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DATE 

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Form  No.  513 

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UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00009160061 

MEMORtzoiD 


OP   A 


Southern  Planter. 


BY 


SUSAN  DABNEY  SMEDES. 


"  The  memory  of  so  honest  and  noble  a  life  deserves  a  suitable 
record." — Wm.  M.  Green,  Bishop  of  Mississippi. 

"A  priceless  heritage  for  his  posterity;  the  record  of  a  life  crowned 
•with  honorable  deeds." — Extract  from  a  letter  of  Hon.  E.  Barksdale, 
of  Miasissipipi. 


BALTIMORE: 

CUSHINGS    &    BAILEY. 
1887. 


Copyright,  1SS7,  by  Susan  Dabney  Smedes. 


PBEFACE. 


The  materials  for  these  memorials  were  collected  a 
few  weeks  after  the  death  of  my  father.  There  was  no 
thought  then  of  having  them  made  public.  They  were 
gotten  together  that  the  memory  and  example  of  his 
life  should  not  pass  away  from  his  grandchildren,  many 
of  whom  are  yet  too  young  to  appreciate  his  character. 
They  will  come  to  mature  years  in  a  time  when  slavery 
will  be  a  thing  of  the  past. 

They  will  hear  much  of  the  wickedness  of  slavery 
anjjjrf  slave-owners.  T^wjahjyiem_tQJearn  ofl%_gogd. 
master:  ofjme  who  cared  for  his  servants  affection- 
atejyand  yet  with  a  firm  hand,  when  there  was  need, 
and  with  a  full  sense  of  his" responsibility.  There  were 
manyliTEe  him.  Self-interest — one  might,  with  truth, 
say  self-protection — was  with  most  masters  a  sufficient 
incentive  to  kindness  to  slaves,  when  there  was  no 
higher  motive.  My  father  was  so  well  assured  of  the 
contentment  and  well-bein£_of_his  slaves,  while  he 
6"vyhed  Lheiu/and"Mwl3oHnuchof  their  suffering,  which 


hewasnot  able  to  relipTyn  atlnr  they  were  freed^  that 
he  did  not,  for  manyyears.  believe  that  it-Htas  better 
fo?Th^m~~to^b^^He"than  held  as  slaves.  But  during 
the  last  winter  of  his  life  he  expressed  the  opinion  that) 
it  was  wjilJia£theccuto, have  Jheir  freedom. 

Itfhas  been  suggested  by  friends,  ijvwhose  judgment 
I  tru'st,  that  these  memorials  may  throw  a  kindly  light 
on_Smv^ernmasters  Ipr^othersJ- as~well  as  for  my 
*  3 

d 


A 


4  PREFACE. 

father's  descendants.  Should  this  be  so,  I  shall  not 
regret  laying  bare  much  that  is  private  and  sacred. 

He  was  like  his  Jaqueline  ancestors  in  appearance. 
The  "  grand  look"  of  the  first  Jaquelines  and  what  we 
knew  as  the  "  Jaqueline  black  eyes"  were  his.  Several 
times  in  his  life  he  was  asked  as  a  favor  by  painters  to 
sit  for  his  portrait ;  on  two  occasions  by  distinguished 
artists  whom  he  met  casually.  "I  want  a  patrician 
head  for  an  historical  picture  that  I  am  painting,"  one 
said. 

He  never  suspected  any  one  of  wishing  to  be  other- 
wisj3_th3Ji^i±i^^ 

frequently  defrauded  in  his  dealings  with  dishonest 
people.  Unce,  during  the  latter  years  of  his  IilepWiron 
in  extremest  poverty,  he  made  a  rather  worse  bargain 
than  usual. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  you  ever  made  a  good  bargain 
in  your  life,"  some  one  said. 

"  No,  I  never  tried,"  was  the  emphatic  answer.  "A 
good  bargain  always  means  that  somebody  makes  a 
bad  one." 

"  Uncle  Tom,"  one  of  his  brother's  children  said  to 
him,  "  why  do  you  deny  yourself  everything  ?  Your 
credit  is  good.  You  could  get  thousands  of  dollars  if 
you  chose." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  my  credit  is  good ;  and  I  mean  to 
keep  it  so,"  he  replied,  in  a  manner  that  precluded 
further  argument  on  that  subject. 

S.  D.  S. 

Baltimohe,  1303  John  Street,  June  1,  1886. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — Birth  and  Early  Years 17 

II. — Marmage  and  Life  at  Elmington     ....  31 

III. — Leaving  the  Old  Home 47 

IV. — Mammy  Harriet's  Kecollections 52 

V. — Early  Days  in  Mississippi 65 

YI. — Plantation  Management 76 

YII. — Still  Waters  and  Green  Pastures  ....  87 

VIII. — Management  of  Servants 101 

IX. — A  Southern  Planter's  "Wife 108 

X. — A  Southern  Planter 115 

XL— Home  Life 130 

XII. — Holiday  Times  on  the  Plantation    ....  160 

XIII — The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 166 

XIV.— Summer  Travel 171 

XV. — Summer-Time — Palling  Asleep 179 

XVI.— Slaves  and  War-Times 190 

XVII. — A  Week  within  the  Lines 202 

XVIIL— Refugees 214 

XIX.— Old  Master 223 

XX. — The  Crown  of  Poverty 231 

XXI. — The  Crowning  Blessing 244 

XXII. — Life  at  Burleigh 258 

XXIIL— Quiet  Days 292 

XXIV.— Best 322 


1* 


INTRODUCTION 


GENEALOGICAL. 

In  the  fair  land  of  France  the  old  Huguenot  name 
and  family  of  d'Aubigne  still  live.  They  form  but  a 
small  colony  in  their  native  land,  never  having  increased 
much.  From  the  earliest  times  they  seem  to  have  had 
a  strong  religious  vein.*  All  the  branches  of  this 
family  in  America  claim  a  common  ancestry.  They 
have  the  same  armorial  bearings, — an  elephant's  head, 
three  footless  martins,  and  the  fleurs-de-lis  of  France, 
— the  same  traditions,  and  the  same  motto,  which  they 
hold  in  three  languages.  In  France  they  have  the 
motto  in  the  Latin,  Fidelis  et  Grata.  One  of  the  Amer- 
ican branches  has  it  in  French,  Fidele  et  Reconnaissant ; 
while  most  of  the  name  in  the  United  States  have  it  in 
English,  Faithful  and  Grateful. 

The  name  has  undergone  many  changes  since  the 
American  branch  left  France,  two  centuries  ago.  It 
is  variously  written,  as^  Daubeny,  Daubney,  Bigny, 
D'aubenay,  Dabnee,  and  Dabney.) 

The  traditions  among  all  say  that  they  are  descended 
from  that  fearless  Huguenot  leader,  Agrippa  d'Aubigne, 
who  flourished  from  1550  to  1630. 

But  Agrippa  was  not  the  first  of  his  name  known  at 
the  French  court.  According  to  tradition  in  the  family, 
a  d'Aubigne  commanded  a  company  of  Swiss  guards 
at  the  court  of  Louis  XII. 

Agrippa  d'Aubigne  wrote  a  minute  history  of  the 

*  The  following  is  an  extract  from  "Don  Miff,"  a  romance  written  by 
my  brother,  V.  Dabney  :  "  This  Huguenot  cross  gave  the  old  Whacker 
stock  a  twist  towards  theology.  Two  of  the  sons  of  Thomas  and  Eliza- 
beth took  orders,  much  to  the  surprise  of  their  father." 

7 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

fearful  times  in  which  he  lived, — one  of  the  hest  that  has 
come  down  to  us.  Agrippa  was  the  father  of  Constant 
d'Aubigne,  who  was  the  father  of  Mme.  de  Maintenon, 
and  her  brother,  Chevalier  d'Aubigne.  Constant  d'Au- 
bigne was  twice  married.  The  first  wife,  Ann  Marchant, 
left  a  son  Theodore.  The  second  wife,  Jeanne  Cardil- 
lac,  was  the  mother  of  Mme.  de  Maintenon  and  Chev- 
alier d'Aubigne ;  the  latter  was  never  married.  The 
d'Aubigne  line  was  continued  through  Ann  Marchant's 
son,  Theodore. 

We  find  the  name  on  the  rolls  of  Battle  Abbey  among 
the  list  of  knights  who  fell  at  Hastings.  Others  sur- 
vived the  conquest,  and  are  mentioned  in  Hume's  His- 
tory as  champions  of  Magna  Charta. 

After  the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of 'Nantes  (1685), 
a  branch  of  t h e  d AubigFe  f ahiTTy  left  forever  the  land 
of  their  ancestors,  because  they  could  no  longer  there 
worship  (xod  with  freedom  of  conscience.  They  took 
refuge  in  Wales.  Somewhere  between  1715  to  1717 
twcj2EO_tbe_rSj  Corn eTTus~and_John~  d'Aubigne,  left  this 
land  of  their  adoption,  and  sai lect  for~A meVica.  Per- 
haps about  the  same  time  their  brother  Eobert  came 
over,  and  fixed  his  home  in  Boston.  Cornelius  and  John 
came  to  Virginia  and  settled  on  the  two  banks  of  the 
Pamunky  River, — Cornelius  on  the  northern  and  John 
on  the  southern  side. 

In  the  hand-book  in  the  land  office  of  Bichmond, 
Virginia,  is  recorded:  "  Cornelius  de  Bany,  or  de  Bones 
or  de  Bony — a  grant  of  land  (200  acres)  in  New  Kent, 
dated  27th  September,  1664.  Again,  another  grant  to 
same  of  640  acres,  dated  June  7th,  1666.  Again,  this 
last  grant  was  on  Tolomoy  Creek,  York  River.  Again, 
Sarah  Dabney,  a  grant  of  land  (179  acres)  on  Pamunky 
River,  in  King  and  Queen  Co.,  April  25th,  1701."  Then 
follow  other  grants  to  other  Dabneys  in  these  early 
daj'S  of  our  country. 

From  Robert  d'Aubigne,  of  Boston,  sprang  the  men 
who  for  three  generations,  and  almost  from  the  begin- 
ning of  our  republic,  have  held  the  United  States  con- 
sulate in  the  Azores,  or  Western  Islands.  During  this 
period  the  government  has  seen  many  changes,  but  only 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

one  attempt  has  been  made  during  eighty  years  to  take 
the  consulship  out  of  the  hands  of  the  descendants  of 
Robert  d'Aubigne.  They  have  borne  themselves  so 
well  in  their  office  as  to  win  the  confidence  of  Whig 
and  Democrat  and  Republican.  Under  General  Grant's 
administration  it  was  thought  advisable,  for  political 
reasons,  to  bestow  this  consulship  on  Mr.  Cover.  Ac- 
cordingly, in  1869,  it  was  taken  from  Charles  William 
Dabney  and  given  to  Mr.  Cover.  Charles  William 
Dabney,  who  had  succeeded  his  father  in  the  consulate, 
who  had  held  it  since  1806,  received  the  new  consul 
in  his  own  house,  as  he  could  not  be  suitably  accom- 
modated elsewhere.  But  Mr.  Cover  lived  only  two 
years,  and  on  his  death  the  consulate  passed  again  into 
the  hands  of  the  Dabney  family.  Charles  W.  Dabney 
had  held  it  for  forty-three  years.  He  did  not  desire 
it  again,  feeling  too  old  to  serve.  His  son,  Samuel  W. 
Dabney,  was  appointed  consul  in  1872,  and  still  holds 
the  office.  Honorable  mention  was  made  by  Presi- 
dent Cleveland,  in  reappointing  him  to  the  consulate, 
of  the  seiwices  of  Samuel  W.  Dabney.  A  younger 
brother  of  Charles  W.  Dabney,  William  H.  Dabney, 
held  for  twenty  years  the  consulship  of  the  Canary 
Islands,  having  resigned  in  1882. 

In  the  court  record  at  Hanover  Court-House,  un- 
fortunately destroyed  in  the  Richmond  conflagration 
of  1865,  occurred  this  entry  in  the  first  minute-book 
of  that  county,  at  the  beginning  of  the  entries,  which 
wei-e  begun  when  the  county  was  cut  off  from  New 
Kent  County,  in  1726  : 

"  Ordered,  that  it  be  recorded  that  on  —  day  of 
April,  1721,  Cornelius  Dabney,  late  Of  England,*  inter- 
married with  Sarah  Jennings."  All  accounts  agree 
that  his  first  wife  died  soon  after  coming  to  "Virginia, 
.  leaving  an  only  son,  George.  From  this  English  George 
came  the  William  Dabney  who  gave  two  sons  to  the 
Revolutionary  army, — Charles,  who  commanded  the 
Dabney  Legion,  and  George,  who  was  a  captain  in  that 
legion.     The    brothers  were   present  at  the  siege  of 

*  He  seems  to  have  gone  to  England  before  coming  to  America. 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

Yen-Mown  and  the  surrender  of  Lord  Cornwall's.  They 
received  the  thanks  of  Congi-eas  for  services  rendered. 
George  Dabney's  powder-horn,  that  he  carried  into 
battle,  is  still  in  existence,  and  in  the  possession  of  one 
of  his  descendants.  Patrick  Henry,  who  was  a  kins- 
man and  companion  of  these  brothers,  was  on  very 
intimate  terms  with  them. 

From  the  marriage  of  Cornelius  Dabney  and  Sarah 
Jennings  sprang  three  sons  and  four  daughters.  The 
descendants  of  their  half-brother  George  and  of  this 
band  of  brothers  and  sisters  have  their  homes  in  Louisa 
and  Hanover  Counties.  Of  late  years  they  have  spread 
over  nearly  every  State  in  the  South  and  Southwest, 
and  some  have  found  their  way  to  the  Middle  States. 

The  distinguished  Presbyterian  minister,  Rev.  Robert 
L.  Dabney,  well  known  as  the  author  of  the  "  Life  of 
Stonewall  Jackson,"  and  now  professor  of  the  Stale 
University  of  Texas,  is  descended  from  Cornelius  Dab- 
ney's son  George. 

John  Dabney  established  himself  on  the  lower  Pa- 
munky  River,  at  what  has  been  known  ever  since  as 
Dabney's  Ferry,  and  this  became  the  original  nest  of 
the  Dabneys  of  King  "William  and  Gloucester  Coun- 
ties. 

"Most  of  the  families  of  Lower  Virginia  are  de- 
scended from  John  d'Aubigne  ;  also  the  Carrs,  Walters, 
Taylors,  Pendletons,  Nelsons,  Robinsons,  and  Carters 
and  Fontaines,  Beverleys  and  Maury's,  the  Lees,  of 
Loudoun,  the  Seldens  and  Alexanders,  of  Alexandria. 
There  is  hardly  a  Huguenot  or  Cavalier  family  in  Vir- 
ginia that  has  not  in  its  veins  an  infusion  of  the  blood 
of  that  sturdy  confessor,  Agrippa  d'Aubigne.  From 
the  original  pair  of  French  Huguenots,  married  in  1685, 
no  less  than  six  thousand  descendants  have  their  names 
inscribed  on  a  gigantic  family-tree.  Several  thousand 
more  could  be  added,  if  the  twigs  and  boughs  were 
filled  out  with  the  names  of  the  lineal  descendants 
known  to  exist." 

John  d'Aubigne  was  married  twice.  George  was 
the  offspring  of  his  first  marriage.  James,  his  son  by 
his  second  wife,  was  famous  for  his  great  strength. 


INTR  OD  UCTION.  1 1 

George  was  twice  manned,  and  died,  leaving  two  sons, 
George  and  Benjamin,  by  his  first  wife,  and  two,  James 
and  Thomas,  by  his  second  wife.  His  second  son,  Ben- 
jamin, refused  to  receive  his  share  of  his  father's  prop- 
erty, leaving  it  to  be  used  in  educating  his  younger 
half-brothers.  His  brother  George  lived  at  the  old 
homestead,  Dabney's  Ferry,  and  became  the  father  of 
sixteen  children,  eleven  of  whom  lived  to  be  grown. 
Of  these,  four  were  sons  and  seven  daughters.  These 
sisters  were  noted  for  their  beauty.  One  of  them, 
Mary  Eleanor,  attracted  the  admiration  of  General 
Lafayette. 

A  daughter  of  this  lady,  now  sixty-seven  years  of 
age,  writes  thus : 

"  General  Lafayette,  you  know,  visited  this  country 
in  1825.  He  was  the  guest  of  the  city  in  Richmond. 
No  private  house  could  do  for  his  entertainment,  but  a 
suite  of  rooms  in  the  great  Eagle  Hotel  was  secured 
for  him.  I  have  seen  the'  rooms  many  a  time,  as  my 
mother  boarded  there  with  my  brother  and  myself. 
Cousin  H.  R.  was  the  most  gifted  person  with  her  pen, 
and  she  would,  with  indelible  ink,  make  lovely  leaves, 
flowers,  doves,  or  scrolls,  with  the  name  in  them.  Well, 
Lafayette's  pillow-cases  were  of  the  finest  linen,  marked 
by  her  with  her  own  hair,  which  was  a  lovely  auburn, 
very  long  and  smooth  and  even,  and  a  motto  was  also 
on  them  with  the  name.  I  saw  them  often.  I  believe 
he  was  in  Richmond  some  time.  All  his  pillow-cases 
were  marked  in  that  way.  My  dear  mother  had  then 
been  a  widow  four  years,  and  was  only  twenty-four 
years  old,  and  in  the  very  height  of  her  beauty.  Every- 
body who  could  get  to  Bichmond  was  there  to  see  the 
great  welcome  of  the  city  to  Lafayette.  Many  people 
were  not  even  able  to  find  shelter.  Of  course,  my 
mother  and  young  aunts  were  among  those  who  went 
there.  There  was  a  hall,  spoken  of  to  this  day  as  the 
Lafayette  Hall.  My  mother  danced  with  him  and  be- 
came well  acquainted.  People  used  to  come  over  with 
such  tales  to  grandpa's,  and  he  made  me  cry  many  a 
time,  teasing  me  by  saying  that  mother  was  going  to 
marry  Lafayette  and  go  to  France  to  eat  frogs.    You 


12  INTRODUCTION. 

know  Lafayette  was  a  married  man,  well  advanced  in 
years ;  but,  of  course,  I  did  not  know  that.  He  really 
told  several  persons,  Mrs.  H.  among  them,  that  my 
mother  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  he  had  ever 
seen,  either  in  France  or  America.  When  he  left  Rich- 
mond many  ladies  kissed  him,  and  he  requested  a  kiss 
from  my  mother." 

Benjamin  Dabney  married  first  Miss  ISTancy  Arm- 
stead.  She  lived  only  a  few  years,  leaving  three  chil- 
dren, G-eorge,  Benjamin,  and  Ann.  A  year  or  two 
later  he  married  his  second  wife,  Miss  Sarah  Smith, 
the  daughter  of  the  Eev.  Thomas  Smith.  My  father 
was  one  of  the  children  of  this  marriage.  The  sons, 
George  and  Benjamin,  grew  up  to  be  of  so  great  physi- 
cal strength  as  to  become  famous  at  their  college  of 
William  and  Mary.  In  physical  development  they 
resembled  their  grandfather's  half  brother,  James  Dab- 
ney, who  bears  the  surname  of  "  the  Powerful"  on  the 
family-tree.  George  went  into  the  navy,  and  was  en- 
gaged in  the  battle  of  Tripoli,  and  was  so  fortunate  as 
to  save  Decatur's  life  in  that  fight.  He  grew  tired  of 
the  navy  and  left  it  for  a  planter's  life.  Benjamin  also 
became  a  planter,  and  married  his  cousin,  Ann  West 
Dabney,  the  daughter  of  his  uncle  George. 

The  Smiths  from  whom  my  father  was  descended  on 
the  maternal  side  wei*e  known  in  Virginia  as  the 
Shooter's  Hill  Smiths, — Shooter's  Hill,  in  Middlesex 
County,  Virginia,  being  the  home  which  they  founded 
in  this  country.  His  mother  was  Sarah  Smith,  the 
daughter  of  the  Eev.  Thomas  Smith,  of  Westmoreland 
County,  a  clergyman  of  the  Established  Church,  and 
Mary  Smith  of  Shooter's  Hill.  The  earliest  record  in 
the  old  Shooter's  Hill  Bible  is  of  the  marriage  of  John 
Smith  of  Perton  and  Mary  Warner  of  Warner  Hall, 
Gloucester  County,  in  the  year  1680.  One  of  Mary 
Warner's  sisters,  Mildred,  married  the  son  of  George 
Washington's  uncle,  Lawrence  Washington.  A  de- 
scendant of  John  Smith  of  Perton,  General  John  Bull 
Davidson  Smith  of  Hack  wood,  was  a  thorough  dem- 
ocrat, sharing  with  other  Americans  of  that  day  in  a 
revulsion  and  animosity  against   everything  English. 


INTRODUCTION.  13 

Seeing  that  some  of  his  family  took  more  interest  in 
genealogy  and  family  records  than  he  thought  becom- 
ing in  a  citizen  of  the  young  republic,  he  made  a  bon- 
fire of  all  the  papers  relating  to  his  ancestors  and 
family  history.  It  is  necessarily,  therefore,  rather  a 
tradition  than  a  fact  recorded  in  family  history,  that 
John  Smith  of  Perton  was  the  son  of  Thomas  Smith, 
the  brother  of  the  Captain  John  Smith  so  famous  in 
colonial  history.  The  Smiths  of  this  line  adopted  Cap- 
tain John  Smith's  coat  of  arms,  the  three  Turks'  heads, 
and  now  hold  it. 

The  grandson  of  John  Smith  of  Perton,  John  Smith 
of  Shooter's  Hill,  married  in  1737  Mary  Jaqueline,  one 
of  the  three  beautiful  daughters  of  the  French  emigrant, 
Edward  Jaqueline.  The  ceremony  was  performed  at 
Jamestown  by  the  Bev.  William  Dawson.  They  were 
the  parents  of  Mary  Smith  of  Shooter's  Hill,  who  was 
married  in  1765  to  the  Eev.  Thomas  Smith.  In  Bishop 
Meade's  book  on  the  old  churches  and  families  of  Vir- 
ginia are  some  interesting  accounts  of  Mary  Smith's 
Jaqueline  ancestors  and  Ambler  relations.  The  follow- 
ing extracts  are  from  his  pages: 

"  The  old  church  at  Jamestown  is  no  longer  to  be  seen, 
except  the  base  of  its  ruined  tower.  A  few  tombstones, 
with  the  names  of  Amblers  and  Jaquelines,  the  chief 
owners  of  the  island  for  a  long  time,  and  the  Lees  of 
Green  Spring  (the  residence  and  property,  at  one  time, 
of  Sir  William  Berkeley),  a  few  miles  from  Jamestown, 
still  mark  the  spot  where  so  many  were  interred  during 
the  earlier  years  of  the  colony.  Some  of  the  sacred 
vessels  are  yet  to  be  seen,  either  in  private  hands  or  in 
public  temples  of  religion.  .  .  .  The  third  and  last  of 
the  pieces  of  church  furniture — which  is  now  in  use  in 
one  of  our  congregations — is  a  silver  vase,  a  font  for 
baptism,  which  was  presented  to  the  Jamestown  church 
in  1733  by  Martha  Jaqueline,  widow  of  Edward  Jaque- 
line, and  their  son  Edward.  In  the  year  1785,  when 
the  act  of  Assembly  ordered  the  sale  of  church  property, 
it  reserved  that  which  was  passed  by  right  of  private 
donation.  Under  this  clause  it  was  given  into  the 
hands  of  the  late  Mr.  John  Ambler,  his  grandson.  .  .  . 

2 


14  IN  TR  OD  UCTIO  N. 

"Edward  Jaqueline,  of  Jamestown,  was  the  son  of 
John  Jaqueline  and  Elizabeth  Craddock,  of  the  county 
of  Kent,  in  England.  He  was  descended  from  the  same 
stock  which  gave  rise  to  the  noble  family  of  La  Eoche 
Jaquelines  in  France.  They  were  Protestants,  and  fled 
from  La  Vendee,  in  France,  to  England  during  the 
reign  of  that  bloodthirsty  tyrant  Charles  IX.,  of  France, 
and  a  short  time  previous  to  the  massacre  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew. They  were  eminently  wealthy,  and  were 
fortunate  enough  to  convert  a  large  portion  of  their 
wealth  into  gold  and  silver,  which  they  transported  in 
safety  to  England." 

"  Whilst  I  was  in  Paris  (says  one  of  the  travellers 
from  America),  in  1826,  the  Duke  of  Sylverack,  who 
was  the  intimate  friend  of  Mine,  de  La  Eoche  Jaqueline 
(the  celebrated  authoress  of  'Wars  of  La  Vendee'), 
informed  me  that  the  above  account — which  is  the  tra- 
dition among  the  descendants  of  the  family  in  America 
— corresponds  exactly  with  what  the  family  in  France 
believe  to  have  been  the  fate  of  those  Jaquelines  who 
fled  to  England  in  the  reign  of  Charles  IX.  I  found 
the  family  to  be  still  numerous  in  France.  It  has  pro- 
duced many  distinguished  individuals,  but  none  more 
so  than  the  celebrated  Vendean  chief,  Henri  de  La  Eoche 
Jaqueline,  who,  during  the  revolution  of  1790,  was 
called  to  command  the  troops  of  La  Vendee  after  his 
father  had  been  killed,  and  when  he  was  only  nineteen 
years  of  age.  Thinking  that  he  Avas  inadequate  to  the 
task,  on  account  of  his  extreme  youth  and  total  want 
of  experience  in  military  affairs,  he  sought  seriously  to 
decline  the  dangerous  honor ;  but  the  troops,  who  had 
been  devotedly  attached  to  the  father  and  family,  would 
not  allow  him  to  do  so,  and  absolute^  forced  him  to 
place  himself  at  their  head  in  spite  of  himself.  As  soon 
as  he  found  that  resistance  was  useless,  he  assumed  the 
bearing  of  a  hero  and  gave  orders  for  a  general  review 
of  his  army :  to  which  (being  formed  in  a  hollow  square), 
in  an  animated  and  enthusiastic  manner,  he  delivered 
this  ever-memorable  speech  :  '  My  friends,  if  my  father 
were  here  you  would  have  confidence  in  him;  but  as 
for  me,  I  am  nothing  more  than  a  mere  child.     But  as 


INTR  OD  UCTION.  \  5 

to  my  courage,  I  shall  now  show  myself  worthy  to 
command  you.' 

"  This  young  man  started  forth  a  military  Eoscius, 
and  maintained  to  the  end  of  his  career  the  high  ground 
he  first  seized.  After  displaying  all  the  skill  of  a  vet- 
eran commander  and  all  the  courage  of  a  most  daunt- 
less hero,  he  nobly  died  upon  the  field  of  battle,  at  the 
early  age  of  twenty-one,  thus  closing  his  short  but 
brilliant  career." 

The  Jaquelines  have  English  as  well  as  French  an- 
cestors. A  branch  of  the  family  in  America  still  cher- 
ishes a  lock  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  red  hair.  This  was 
acquired  through  Cary,  Lord  Hunsden,  whom  they 
claim  as  their  English  ancestor.  His  mother  was  Mary, 
daughter  to  Thomas  Bullen  and  sister  to  the  unfor- 
tunate Anne  Bullen. 

Through  the  Smiths  and  Jaqueline3  my  father  was 
related  to  the  Washingtons,  Marshalls,  Amblers,  Joneses, 
Pages,  Carys,  and  many  other  Virginia  families.  My 
father's  grandfather,  the  Rev.  Thomas  Smith,  was  not 
related  to  his  wife,  Mary  Smith,  although  she  bore  the 
same  name.  The  result  of  this  union  was  a  family  of 
three  sons  and  four  daughters.  Among  the  list  of  their 
names  in  the  family  Bible  we  find  a  Mary  Jaqueline. 
Their  fifth  child,  Sarah,  was  born  on  the  27th  of  Feb- 
ruary, 1775,  and  her  brother,  John  Augustine,  seven 
years  later.  A  thirteen-year-old  sister,  Ann,  was  struck 
by  lightning  and  burned  to  death  in  her  closet. 

Thomas  Smith  was  rector  of  jSTomini  Church,  Cople 
Parish,  "Westmoreland  County,  from  1773  to  1776.  At 
one  time  during  the  residence  of  his  family  at  the 
rectory  attached  to  this  old  church,  there  came  an 
alarm  that  the  British  ships  were  coming  up  the  Po- 
tomac River.  The  rector  ordered  every  thing  that 
could  be  hastily  collected  to  be  put  into  a  wagon  to 
be  driven  off  to  a  place  of  security.  As  the  servants 
were  engaged  in  loading  up  the  wagon,  the  oxen  moved 
one  of  the  wheels  against  a  plank  on  which  a  line  of 
beehives  were  standing.  The  plank  was  upset  and  the 
hives  thrown  to  the  ground.  The  bees  flew  in  every 
direction,  stinging  every   living   thing   within   reach. 


16  INTRODUCTION. 

The  family  and  servants  fled  into  the  house.  They 
were  obliged  to  stuff  even  the  keyholes  to  keep  out 
the  infuriated  bees.  The  oxen  ran  entirely  away,  and 
the  fowls  which  were  in  coops  in  the  wagon  were  stung 
to  death. 

The  Eev.  Thomas  Smith  died  in  May,  1789.  Two 
years  later,  in  December,  1791,  his  wife  died.  In  Oc- 
tober, 1791,  their  daughter  Sarah,  in  her  seventeenth 
year,  was  married  to  Benjamin  Dabney.  He  was  a 
widower  with  three  children,  though  but  twenty-seven 
years  old.  Sarah's  step-daughter,  Ann,  afterwards  mar- 
ried her  brother,  Major  Thomas  Smith. 

Benjamin  Dabney  had  given  up  the  family  mansion 
at  Dabney's  Perry,  together  with  his  patrimony,  on  his 
father's  death,  to  his  brother  and  his  half-brothers,  and 
he  made  his  home  on  the  York  Eiver  at  Bellevue,  in 
King  and  Queen  County.  He  had  also,  to  some  ex- 
tent, used  his  own  means  in  the  education  of  his  half- 
brother,  James  Dabney,  and  his  wife's  favorite  brother, 
John  Augustine  Smith.  Both  young  men  received 
medical  educations  abroad, — James  Dabney  in  Edin- 
burgh, and  John  Augustine  Smith  in  London  and  Paris. 
His  kindness  and  trust  were  not  misplaced.  When 
his  own  early  death  deprived  his  children  of  a  father's 
care,  Dr.  James  Dabney  and  Dr.  John  Augustine  Smith 
were  the  best  friends  whom  his  children  had. 


MEMOEIALS 

or 

A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER, 


CHAPTER  I. 

BIRTH   AND   EARLY   TEARS. 

Mr  father,  Thomas  Smith  Grregoiy  Dabney,  was  born 
at  Bellevue,  hisTather's  country-seat  on  the  Pamunky 
River,  in  the  county  of  King  and  Queen,  Virginia,  on 
the  4th  day  of  January,  1798,_and  he  used  to  tell  us 
that  he  was  two  years  in  the  world  before  G-eneral 
"Washington  left  it. 

T\vobrothershad  died  in  infancy  before  his  birth, 
and  the  vigorous  boy  was  hailed  with"~much  rejoicing. 
T he  christening jwas  a  great ^  e*vent7~TT  was"  cede bra t e d 
atTTelievue  on  so  large  a  "scale  tffat  the  cake  for  the 
feast  was  made  in  a  churn.  Often  as  children  we  heard 
the  old  servants  refer  with  pride  to  this  occasion,  and 
to  the  large  company  invited  to  witness  it.  In  the  old 
Smith  Bible,  for  the  rebinding  of  which  one  hundred 
dollars  of  Continental  money  is  said  to  have  been  paid, 
is  found  this  entry,  in  his  mother's  small,  old-fashioned 
handwriting:  "Thomas  Smith  Grregoiy  Dabney,  our 
third  child,  was  born  on  the  4th  day  of  January,  1798; 
was  baptized  the  11th  May,  1798.  His  godfathers 
were  Messrs.  Robert  Wirt,  Harvey  G-aines,  Thomas  GJ-. 
Smith,  James  Dabney,  Thomas  Fox,  and  Edward  Jones. 
His  godmothers  were  Mrs.  Lee,  Miles.  Milly  Williams, 
Elizabeth  Robinson,  Mary  S.  Whiting,  Mary  Camp, 
and  Ann  S.  Dabney,  and  Ann  Baytop."  The  first  in- 
6  2*  17 


18        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

cident  recorded  of  the  baby  was  his  great  terror  at  the 
sight  of  a  very  ugly  lady,  a  visitor  of  his  mother's. 
"Missis,  he  didn't  know  if  she  was  folks,"  was  his 
nurse's  explanation  when  his  screams  had  drawn  at- 
tention to  her  charge.  When  only  one  year  of  age  he 
was  inoculated,  having  been  sent  with  his  nurse  to  a 
public  hospital,  as  the  custom  then  was  in  "Virginia. 
In  due  time  he  passed  safely  and  without  disfiguring 
marks  through  the  dangers  of  varioloid.  He  used  to 
relate  to  us  that  his  mother  had  said  that  one  of  the 
happiest  moments  of  her  life  was  when  her  spool  of 
cotton  fell  from  her  lap,  her  little  Thomas,  then  eigh- 
teen months  old,  picked  it  up  and  handed  it  to  her. 
When  he  was  two  years  old  his  brother,  Philip  Augus- 
tine Lee,  was  born,  and,  two  years  later,  his  sister, 
Martha  Burwell.  This  little  flock  were  taught  their 
letters  and  to  read  by  a  favorite  servant,  the  daughter 
of  their  mother's  maid.  Thomas  had  great  difficulty 
in  remembering  one  of  the  letters.  Finally,  a  cake 
was  promised,  all  for  himself,  if  he  would  try  still 
harder.  So,  all  day  he  went  about  the  house  repeating 
"  G-,  G-,"  and  the  next  day,  when  lesson  hour  came,  his 
•     mother  put  his  cake  before  him  as  fairly  earned. 

My  father's  recollections  of  his  father^wexe-vegyLxlia-- 
tinct,  considering^lhat  he  died  in~~tlie  forty-third  year 
of  his  age,  when  his  son  Thomas  had  (mTylTEXSiiacCthJe 
^mleFage  of  eight  years,  T h ft  m am o.r.y.o£ 4fl4s-£t-frke,r 
was  ever  a  most  cherished  one;  "and  his  children  re- 
member the  almost  pathetic  manner  in  which  in  his  own 
old  age  he  lamented  the  untimely  cutting  off  of  that 
young  life  and  brilliant  career. 

Benjamin  Dabney  was  at  the  head  of  the  bar  in 
King  anir~~Q~ueen  County,  and  was  engaged  by, the 
British  government  to  settle  British  claims.  In  nearly 
every~case  that  came  to  trial  in  his  county  he  was  en- 
gaged as  counsel  on  one  side.  He  was  considered  by 
his  brethren  in  his  profession  to  be  the  most  learned 
man  in  the  law  in  his  section.  The  judge  who  at 
that  time  sat  on  the  bench  appealed  to  him  when 
doubtful  on  any  legal  point,  saying  that  Mr.  Dabney 
knew  the  law,  and  there  was  no  need  to  look  into 


BIRTH  AND   EARLY  YEARS.  19 

the  books  when  he  was  at  hand.  My  father  used 
to  tell  us  of  his  vivid  recollections  of  seeing  him  drive 
home  every  evening  when  the  court  was  in  session. 
He  was  accompanied  by  his  body-servant,  who  followed 
the  gig  on  horseback,  and  who,  after  my  grandfather 
got  out,  carried  into  the  house  the  shot-bags  of  gold 
doubloons  that  had  been  stowed  away  under  the  seat 
in  the  gig-box.  He  sometimes  brought  home  several 
of  these.  One  of  his  fees  amounted  to  four  thousand 
dollars,  which,  considei'ing  that  he  died  when  barely  in 
his  prime,  and  the  value  of  money  at  that  time,  was 
exceptionally  large. 

His  eight-year-old  son  was  already  learning  from  him 
BOjne~of  the  iond,  fatherly  waj^jvhich  were  destined 
years  after  to  endearjnni  to  his  own  children~and  grand- 
childrlmTirnll'whTcTPhe  practised  in  imitation,  of_this 
tender  iatheTelghty  years  after  that  father  was  laid  in 
hjsgrave.  One  of  our  earliest  recollections  of  our  father 
was  his  having  some  treat  for  us  always  on  his  return 
home  from  a  visit.  This  dainty  was  invariably  put  in 
the  very  bottom  of  his  great-coat  pocket,  and  the  de- 
lightful mystery  of  feeling  for  that  package  and  bring- 
ing it  up  to  light,  and  then,  with  eager,  expectant  fin- 
gers untying  the  string  before  the  treasure  could  be 
seen,  was  a  pleasure  not  to  be  forgotten.  My  father's 
face  at  such  times  was  one  of  the  great  charms  of  the 
scene,  so  merry  and  loving,  and  almost  as  full  of  the 
pleasant  little  excitement  as  the  group  of  bright  young 
ones  gathered  around  him.  In  explanation  to  a  visitor 
who  might  be  looking  on,  he  would  say,  "  This  is  the 
way  that  my  father  treated  me.  I  shall  never  forget 
how  I  enjoyed  running  my  hand  down  in  his  great- 
coat pocket  when  he  came  back  in  the  evening  from 
court.  I  was  always  sure  of  finding  there  a  great 
piece  of  what  we  called  in  Virginia  '  court-house 
cake.'  " 

He  was  like  his  father  in  his  thorough  business 
methods  and  his  punctiujjity.  un  tue  days  when  Ben- 
j am  1  n~  U  a  b  n  ey  d  1  d  n ot~at ten d  court  he  retired  to  his 
study  after  breakfast,  and  his  wife  used  to  say  that  her 
orders  were  not  to  have  him  disturbed  unless  the  house 


20        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

was  afire.  Promptly  at  three  o'clock  he  left  his  books 
and  his  business  cares  behind  him  in  his  study,  and, 
after  dressing  for  dinner,  joined  his  family  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. He  was  invariable  in  his  rule  of  being  there 
ten  minutes  before  dinner  was  announced,  and  he  ex- 
pected all  in  the  house  to  conform  to  this.  Many  guests 
came  and  went  at  BellevnP!,  bjit  this  wfh  nQyQTalfcwM 
tcu  interfere  with  his  business.  After  breakfa~st~Tie 
would  say  to  the  gentlemen,  "  Here  are  guns  and  horses 
and  dogs  and  books ;  pray  amuse  yourself  as  you  like 
best.  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  at  din- 
ner." After  dinner  be  was  like  a  boy  on  a  holiday, 
ready  to  join  in  anything  that  was  proposed,  and  the 
life  of  every  party.  He  was  so  elegantly  formed  that 
after  his  death  it  was  said  that  the  handsomest  legs 
in  America  were  gone.  His  death  was  caused  by  a 
violent  cold,  contracted  in  the  discharge  of  his  law 
business.  At  this  time  a  young  and  rising  lawyer,  Mr. 
Charles  Hill,  was  already  beginning  to  share  many  of 
the  important  cases  and  large  fees  with  Benjamin 
Dabney.  This  gentleman  was  destined  to  become  the 
father  of  a  child  who,  years  after,  married  the  son  of 
his  rival,  Benjamin  Dabney,  and  whom  we  knew  as 
our  dearest  mother. 

Our  faithful  old  nurse,  Mammy  Harriet,  who  grew 
up  from  chiklhood  ~with  my  father,  being  only  Two 
years  younger  than  himself,  and  who  was  scai'cely  ever 
separated  from  him,  sits  by  me  as  I  write,  and  she 
gives  me  an  incident  connected  with  the  death  of  my 
grandfather  too  touching  to  be  passed  by. 

"  Yes,  honey,"  she  saj^s  in  her  affectionate  way,  that 
seems  to  claim  us  still  as  her  babies,  "  'course  I  'mem- 
ber when  ole  marster  die.  I  'member  well  de  ole  'oman, 
Grannie  Annie,  who  sot  wid  him  night  an'  day — sot  wid 
de  coffin  up-stairs — all  by  herself;  lay  by  de  corpse  all 
night  long,  put  her  arms  roun'  de  coffin,  an'  hold  on  to 
it,  cryin'  all  night  long.  She  toiler  de  coffin  twenty 
miles  to  Bellevue,  whar  dey  bury  him ;  toiler  behin'  it 
cryin'  an'  hollerin'  an'  hollerin'  an'  cryin'  to  marster  to 
say  how  d'ye  to  Toby — dat  was  her  son — an'  to  Mars 
Gregory  Smith, — dat  was  marster's  uncle,  what  was 


BIRTH  AND   EARLY   YEARS.  21 

dead.  De  ole  'oraan  use  to  wear  gre't  big  pockets,  wal- 
let-like, an' she  used  to  fill 'em  full  o'  peauuts  an'  hickory- 
nuts  an'  apples  an'  dem  kind  o'  things,  an'  carry  'em 
to  Mars  Jeemes  Dabney,  de  brother  o'  her  own  marster, 
what  was  dead.  He  was  Doctor  Dabney,  you  know, 
your  cousin  Jeemes's  father.  He  thought  a  heap  on 
her.  Yes,  to  be  sho,  he  was  a  married  man  den,  wid 
two  chillun.  She  mighty  good  ole  'oman.  When  she 
die  her  hyar  was  white  as  my  cap." 

When  Thomas  was  nine  years  old  his  mother,  feel- 
ing that  her  brother,  uv.  jobn  Augustine  Smith,  would 
be  a  better  judge  thann^rseiroFfninaecessary  require- 
ments  for  the  education  of  her  sons,  sent  them  to  him, 
and  Thomas  was  under  his  care  for  nine  years.  Au- 
gustineTiad  never  been  a  strong  child,  and  it  was  soon 
decided  that  he  was  not  able  to  stand  the  rigorous 
climate  of  Elizabeth,  ISTew  Jersey^where  the  boys  had 
been  place'd"'_at  boarding-school.  At  this  early  age 
the  devotion  of  a  lifetime  had  begun  between  the  two 
children.  The  tender  care  and  admiration  of  Thomas 
for  his  gentle,  studious  brother  knew  no  bounds. 
He  used  sometimes  to  tease  him  himself,  but  never 
allowed  any  one  else  to  do  so.  He  was  the  self-con- 
stituted champion  of  this  younger  brother,  whose 
thoughtful,  retiring  habits  might  otherwise  have  drawn 
on  him  many  petty  annoyances  from  his  heedless 
school-fellows.  At  this  time  Augustine  possessed  the 
gift,  which  he  lost  later  in  life,  of  handling  bees  and 
other  insects  without  danger  of  being  stung.  When  he 
was  missed  from  the  playground,  he  might  often  be 
found  in  some  secluded  spot,  with  various  stinging 
insects  tied  to  strings,  flying  and  buzzing  around  his 
head.  He  was  quite  fearless,  and  so  gentle  that  they 
seemed  to  understand  that  no  hurt  would  be  done  them. 
Thomas  was  occasionally  deluded  into  trying  the  same 
experiments  on  seeing  how  easily  it  seemed  to  be 
managed,  but  in  an  instant  he  was  off  roaring  with 
pain,  and  bitterly  rueing  his  misplaced  confidence.  He 
always  believed  that  Augustine  was  by  natux*e  fitted 
for  a  naturalist,  and  he  deplored  that  his  education 
was  not  turned  in  that  direction.     The  harsh  climate 


22        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

that  froze  the  blood  of  the  delicate  boy  and  made  his 
return  to  his  mother's  care  in  the  Virginia  home  neces- 
sary, built  up  for  the  elder  and  stronger  lad  the  iron 
constitution  that  was  during  his  whole  life  the  wonder 
and  admiration  of  all  who  knew  him. 

In  talking  of  these  school-days,  he  used  to  amaze  his 
Southern-born  children  by  his  stories  of  the  moonlight 
races  that  he  and  his  schoolmates  took  over  the  New 
Jersey  snows.  This  they  did  without  an  article  of 
clothing  on.  They  sometimes  ran  a  mile,  diversifying 
things  on  the  way  by  turning  somersaults  in  the 
snow-drifts  that  were  waist-deep.  When  they  got  back, 
they  would  creep  softly  up-stairs  and  jump  into  their 
beds  and  sleep  like  tops.  At  last  old  Parson  Eudd, 
the  head  of  the  school,  got  wind  of  all  this,  and  strictly 
forbade  it.  Nothing  daunted,  the  boys  were  out  again 
like  rabbits  when  the  snows  and  the  moonlights  were 
propitious.  They  were  captured  once,  as  they  entered 
the  door,  after  one  of  these  escapades,  and  Parson  Eudd 
did  not  fail  to  flog  them  soundly  all  around.  In  those 
days  flogging  was  considered  as  necessary  for  a  boy  as 
his  food,  and  as  good  for  him. 

The  habits  formed  at  this  time  clung  to  Thomas 
through  life.  He  used  frequently  in  winter  to  stand 
in  the  cold  night-wind  in  his  shirt  and  get  thoroughly 
chilled,  in  order,  he  said,  to  enjoy  returning  to  bed  and 
getting  warm.  His  family  feared  that  revulsions  so 
sudden  would  endanger  his  life,  or  his  health,  and  tried 
to  persuade  him  to  give  up  what  they  could  not  but 
look  on  as  a  dangerous  habit,  but  his  laughing  assur- 
ance that  he  liked  it,  and  it  agreed  with  his  consti- 
tution, was  the  only  satisfaction  they  received  in  answer 
to  their  solicitations. 

On  one  occasion  during  his  school-days  in  Elizabeth 
his  mother  came  to  pay  him  a  visit,  and  Mrs.  Winfield 
Scott  called  on  her  there.  As  Mrs.  Scott  was  taking 
leave  her  coachman,  an  ignorant  Irishman,  got  the  fiery 
horses  into  so  unmanageable  a  state  that  they  stood 
on  their  hind  legs  and  pawed  the  air.  In  vain  did  he 
try  to  make  them  move  off.  Thomas,  seeing  the  diffi- 
culty, asked  Mrs.  Scott  to  allow  him  to  dxive  her  home. 


BIRTH  AND   EARLY  YEARS.  23 

She  had  not  seen  him  before,  and  asked,  "My  little 
man,  where  do  you  come  from,  that  you  know  how  to 
manage  horses  ?" 

"  I  am  from  Virginia,"  he  answered. 

"  If  you  are  a  Virginia  boy  you  may  drive  me  home," 
she  said. 

In  a  moment  he  was  on  the  box  by  the  coachman, 
and  had  shown  to  the  unruly  horses  that  a  fearless 
hand  had  taken  the  reins.  They  yielded  at  once  to 
him,  and  in  a  short  time  Mrs.  Scott  was  at  her  own 
door. 

General  Scott  came  out  to  meet  her  as  he  heard  the 
carriage  roll  up,  and  as  he  handed  his  wife  out,  asked, 
"  What  young  gentleman  am  I  indebted  to,  my  dear, 
for  bringing  you  home  ?" 

"He  did  not  tell  me  his  name,"  she  replied;  "he 
only  said  that  he  was  a  Virginia  boy.  I  do  not  know 
who  he  is." 

General  Scott  turned  to  thank  him,  but  he  was 
already  speeding  away  across  the  fields.  When  he  had 
gotten  too  far  away  to  be  thanked,  he  could  not  resist 
looking  around  to  see  how  the  horses  were  behaving. 
They  were  standing  on  their  hind  legs  pawing  the 
air. 

Thomas  was  taken  from  this  school  into  the  house-'; 
hold*"^5TTm' uncle, ~ Dr.  SnutTH  This  gentleman  was; 
admifabryfitted  by  nature  ancf  education  for  the  trust 
committed  to  him  by  his  sister  in  the  care  of  her  sons. 
His  character  was  so  strong,  and  of  such  uncompro- 
mising integrity,  as  to  impress  itself  on  all  who  came 
under  his  influence.  He  received  his  medical  education 
in  London  and  Paris,  and  was  a  practising  physician 
in  the  city  of  New  York  when  Thomas  was  put  under 
his  charge.  When  jmlytwenty-five  years  of  age  his 
native  State  of  VirginlaclHlecrhim  to  the  presidency 
ol^J/Villutm  and  J\lary  College^  I'romfhis  post  he  was 
recalled  to  Jsle^w^ork~by  the  offer  of  a  professorship 
in  the  College  of  Physicians  and  Surgeons.  Ultimately 
he  rose  to  be  president  of  the  college. 

In  order  to  stimulate  Thomas's  ambition  in  the  city 
school  which  he  now  attended,  Dr.  Smith  urged  him 


2±       MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

to  try  to  take  the  Latin  prize.  He  did  succeed  in 
winning  this  prize,  a  handsome  set  of  Plutarch's  Lives, 
and  when  he  carried  the  volumes  home,  his  uncle  took 
a  five-dollar  gold  piece  from  his  pocket  and  put  it  into 
the  boy's  hand.  His  first  thought  was  to  spend  the 
whole  of  this  in  candy  and  raisins,  and  he  went  as 
.fast  as  his  feet  could  take  him  to  his  favorite  resort,  a 
little  candy-booth  kept  by  E.  L.  Stuart.  Unfortunately, 
sulphur  had  just  been  weighed  out  in  the  scales,  and 
the  raisins  had  a  strong  taste  of  sulphur  when  they 
were  handed  to  the  lad.  He  was  made  so  ill  by  this 
that  he  could  not  eat  a  raisin  for  years.  R.  L.  Stuart 
was,  fifty  years  after  this  time,  one  of  the  millionaires 
of  New  York. 

Mrs.  Smith  heard  Thomas  say  one  day  that  he  had 
never  had  as  much  pound-cake  as  he  could  eat.  She 
made  one  for  him,  about  the  size  of  a  grindstone,  he 
used  to  say,  and  had  it  set  before  him  when  the  dessert 
came  on  the  table.  "Now,  Thomas,"  she  said,  "that 
cake  is  all  for  you."  Thomas  was  cured  of  his  fondness 
for  pound-cake  for  the  rest  of  his  life  by  the  very 
sight  of  this  huge  one,  for  he  ate  only  a  very  small 
slice  of  it. 

But  the  lively,  gay  boy  was  more  fond  of  going  to 
the  theatre  than  of  his  Latin  books.  He  spent  nearly 
all  his  pocket-money  in  this  way;  and  during  the  nine 
years  that  he  was  with  his  uncle  he  saw  almost  every- 
thing that  was  brought  out  on  the  New  York  stage. 
He  went  nearly  every  night,  and  the  inexhaustible 
fund  of  amusing  songs  that  were  the  delight  of  his 
children  and  grandchildren,  and  that  are  indelibly  asso- 
ciated with  him  by  his  friends,  who  cannot  recall  them 
without  a  smile,  were  learned  in  this  way. 

After  the  horror  of  the  burning  of  the  Richmond 
Theatre  the  play-houses  were  not  entered  in  New  York 
by  the  public  for  some  weeks.  Every  night  the  mana- 
gers had  their  plays  performed  to  houses  absolutely 
empty.  One  night  Thomas  went  to  a  theatre,  and  find- 
ing a  man  sitting  there,  stayed  during  the  half  of  the  play. 
But  the  situation  of  having  all  the  actors  and  accesses 
looking  at  them,  and  going  through  their  parts  for 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY   TEARS.  25 

them  alone,  became  more  and  more  embarrassing,  and 
both  Thomas  and  the  man  slipped  quietly  out.  Curi- 
osity to  see  the  end  prevailed,  however,  and  finding  a 
little  crack  in  the  lobby,  the  two  stationed  themselves 
so  as  to  be  able  to  peep  through  that,  and  held  their 
posts  till  the  curtain  went  down  on  the  last  act. 

His  memory  was  very  strong,  and  so  clear  in  the 
minutest  detail  as  to  be  the  admiration  of  all  who  came 
in  contact  with  him.  Everything  that  he  heard  or 
read  seemed  graven  on  steel.  Hence,  by  this  constant 
attendance  at  the  theatre,  he  became  familiar  with 
Shakespeare's  plays,  and  with  all  the  standard  works 
of  the  English  drama.  He  was  especially  fond  of 
Shakespeare's  plays,  and  of  "The  Eivals"  and  "She 
Stoops  to  Conquer,"  and  he  quoted  from  them  with  ease. 
This,  however,  he  rarely  did,  having  an  unconquerable 
shyness  in  making  anything  like  a  premeditated  speech. 
At  dinners  he  often  made  speeches  and  proposed  toasts 
when  the  occasion  called  for  them,  but  those  who  knew 
him  cannot  fail  to  recall  the  mounting  color  and  slightly 
husky  voice  which  accompanied  even  the  shortest 
address. 

When  hejwas_  nine  years  old  he  saw  Robert^  Fulton 
make  the  trial  trip  witlihj^jjteamboat  on  the  Hudson 
River?  He~  never  forgot  the  appearance  of  Fulton  as 
he  sJobd  on  the  deck  with  folded  arms,  looking  as  if  he 
were  chiselled  out  of  stone.  All  along  the  river-banks 
were  the  crowds  who  had  gathered  to  witness  what 
most  of  them  had  predicted  would  be  ignominious  fail- 
ure, and  they  would  have  shouted  in  derision  if  their 
evil  predictions  had  been  verified.  Instead,  involuntary 
shouts  of  wild  applause  and  admiration  burst  forth  as 
the  wheel  made  its  first  revolution  and  the  steamer 
moved  off  from  her  wharf  like  a  thing  of  life.  The  river- 
bank  all  the  way  was  lined  with  people  who  came  to  see 
the  wondrous  thing.  In  the  city  of  New  York  it  was 
known  that  the  steamer  was  on  her  way  down  the 
river  while  she  was  yet  several  miles  off  by  the  loud 
shouts  of  the  crowds  on  the  river-banks.  Thomas,  like 
most  boys  born  on  tide-water,  was  exceedingly  fond  of 
boats  and  of  all  sorts  of  water  sports,  and  used  to  amuse 
b  3 


26        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

himself  by  climbing  the  masts  of  the  vessels  in  New 
York  harbor.  From  the  roundtop-mast  of  an  English 
ship,  just  brought  in  as  a  prize,  he  one  day  witnessed 
the  steaming  in  of  Robert  Fulton's  steamboat.  When 
he  went  back  to  his  uncle's  house,  his  mother,  who  had 
arrived  on  the  boat,  told  him  that  she  had  seen  a  little 
fellow  no  bigger  than  himself  up  in  the  rigging  of  a 
big  ship,  and  was  amazed  to  hear  that  he  was  no  other 
than  her  own  boy. 

His  admiration  of  naval  courage  and  prowess  was 
boundless,  fostered  in  childhood  by  the  recitals  of  his 
half-brother  George,  the  midshipman,  and  later  by  the 
stirring  scenes  of  the  war  of  1812.  He  was  one  in  the 
funeral  procession  that  bore  our  heroic  "  Don't-give-up- 
the-ship"  Lawrence  to  his  last  resting-place  in  Trinity 
church-yard. 

At  one  tpm^_iiiidjig_Jiis_residence  under  his  uncle's 
roof  Dr.  Smith  became  dissatisfied"  "with  his  want  of 
application  to  his  studies,  and  advised  his  mother  to  set 
him  to  work  at  some  handicraft.  Accordingly,  he  was 
set  to  work  in  a  printer's  shop,  and  he  printed  a  Bible 
befojufiJija-Cjoiixikulad loLapply— himself  taJthec ulti vatio n 
of  his  mind.  At  the  same  time  Augustine  was  sen- 
tenced to  learn  the  business  of  a  coachmaker  for  the 
same  offence  of  idleness.  He  was  actually  in  his 
mother's  carriage,  on  his  way  to  be  apprenticed  to  a 
coachmaker,  when,  at  Dr.  Smith's  suggestion,  he  was 
given  one  more  opportunity  of  showing  that  he  was 
not  hopelessly  indolent.  The  result  with  both  boys 
was  quite  satisfactory;  they  returned  to  their  books 
with  new  interest,  and  there  was  never  again  occasion 
to  find  fault  with  them  on  this  subject. 

One  night  when  Thomas  was  about  fourteen  years 
old  he  had  run  to  a  fire.  This  he  always  did  when 
near  enough  to  reach  the  scene.  Above  the  uproar  of 
the  flames  could  be  heard  the  screams  of  a  poor  woman 
entreating  some  one  to  save  her  baby,  which  she  said 
was  in  the  burning  house.  No  one  moved  to  attempt 
to  rescue  it.  The  smoke  was  already  puffing  out  of 
the  windows,  and  it  was  considered  as  much  as  a 
man's  life  was  worth  to  enter  the  building.     The  boy 


BIRTH  AND   EARLY   YEARS.  27 

seized  a  piece  of  rough  scantling,  which  he  adjusted 
to  the  second-story  window  that  she  indicated,  and 
on  this  he  climbed  until  he  reached  the  window. 
He  got  into  the  room  and  felt  his  way  to  the  bed,  where 
the  woman  had  said  that  her  child  lay.  The  bed  was 
empty.  Unknown  to  the  mother,  the  child  had  been 
taken  out  and  was  in  a  place  of  safety.  The  boy  now 
groped  his  way  to  the  window.  The  fire  had  made 
such  progress  that  the  windovv-panes  were  falling  in 
great  drops  of  molten  glass.  Not  a  moment  was  to  be 
lost,  and  he  seized  the  scantling  with  both  hands  and 
slid  to  the  ground.  The  liquid  glass  fell  on  his  hands, 
and  the  splinters  and  nails,  of  which  the  scantling  was 
full,  lacerated  them.  The  scars  left  by  these  wounds 
were  so  deep  as  to  be  plainly  visible  during  his  whole 
life.  The  crowd  had  watched  with  breathless  suspense 
his  climbing  into  the  house,  and  it  was  believed  that 
he  had  gone  to  certain  death.  His  reappearance  at  the 
window  was  hailed  with  tumultuous  cheers  and  ap- 
plause. The  police  crowded  around  him,  asking  his 
name,  and  the  woman  fell  on  her  knees  before  him  to 
bless  him  for  his  efforts  in  her  behalf  and  to  beg  to 
know  his  name.  He  refused  to  give  it,  being  quite  em- 
barrassed at  finding  himself  the  centre  of  so  much 
attention,  when  he  had  been  doing  what  seemed  to  him 
so  plain  and  simple  a  duty.  He  got  away  as  fast  as  he 
could,  and  did  not  even  tell  his  uncle  of  his  adventure. 
The  New  York  morning  papers  contained  an  account 
of  the  "  heroic  action  of  a  young  boy  who  had  refused 
to  give  his  name."  It  was  many  years  before  he  men- 
tioned the  circumstance  to  any  one. 

One  cold  day,  when  he  was  about  nineteen  years  old, 
he  noticed  on  the  ferry-boat,  as  he  was  coming  from 
New  York  to  Jersey  City,  a  poor  woman,  who  was 
shivering  in  her  calico  dress.  He  took  off  his  great-coat 
and  put  it  around  her. 

In  after-life  he  amused  his  friends  very  much  by  his 
stories  of  a  certain  Mr. ,  who,  as  some  sort  of  ex- 
piation for  having  killed  a  negro,  built  a  church,  and 
undertook  to  gather  a  congregation  and  to  preach  to 
them.     His  efforts   brought  together  a  number  of  the 


28       MEMORIALS  OF  A  SO  UTHERN  PLANTER. 

wild  spirits  of  the  city.  Thomas,  who  was  afraid  of 
Dr.  Smith's  displeasure  if  it  were  known  that  such  a 
place  was  his  Sunday  evening  resort,  introduced  him- 
self to  this  man  under  the  name  of  Gregory.    "  Brother 

Gregory,"  as  Mr. always  called  him,  was  promoted 

in  this  motley  assembly  to  be  the  raiser  of  the  hymns, 
and  he  was  besides  the  senior  warden.  One  of  his 
duties  was  to  snuff  the  candles ;  he  also  handed  at'ound 
the  plate  for  the  contributions  of  the  congregation. 
He  received  nothing  but  wads  of  paper  and  cigar-ends, 
but  the  man  persisted  in  having  the  plate  handed 
around  regularly.  There  were  no  end  of  practical  jokes 
played  on  him  by  his  unruly  congregation.  They  shied 
rotten  apples  at  his  head  and  blew  out  the  candles,  and 
tried  in  every  way  to  interrupt  him,  especially  when 
his  eyes  were  tightly  closed  in  prayer.  It  was  observed 
that  no  amount  of  disorder  or  noise  could  make  him 
unclose  his  eyes  at  these  times,  and  so  the  merry  fel- 
lows invariably  played  the  wildest  pranks  on  him  as 
soon  as  he  began  the  prayer.  Thomas  was  often  the 
leader  of  these,  but  the  man  never  suspected  him,  as 
he  always  seemed  so  ready  to  help  to  catch  the  offend- 
ers.    It  must  have  been  remarked  even  by  Mr. 

that  he  was  singularly  unsuccessful  in  these  efforts  at 
assisting  him.  One  night  he  threw  the  snuff  of  a  can- 
dle-wick on  a  fuse  that  he  had  arranged  so  that  it 
would  go  off  in  the  midst  of  the  prayer.  At  the  same 
moment  the  candles  were  put  out  all  over  the  house. 
This  time  the  unfortunate  man  was  really  so  alarmed 
that  he  shrieked  for  Brother  Gregory  to  come  to  him, 
that  they  meant  to  kill  him.  With  a  most  officious 
show  of  zeal  Thomas  rushed  forward.  The  two  pur- 
sued the  supposed  offenders  through  the  church,  and 
up  the  stairs  and  through  the  gallery,  Thomas  taking 
good  care  not  to  overtake  the  fugitives.  In  the  gallery 
they  fled  through  a  door,  which  they  held  against  the 
united  efforts  of  the  preacher  and  his  ally.  At  a  pre- 
concerted signal  they  suddenly  sprang  from  the  door, 
which  now  gave  way,  and  the  poor  man  and  his 
trusted  friend  were  precipitated  headlong  on  the  floor. 
It  is  almost  needless  to  say  that  the  police  frequently 


BIRTH  AND    EARLY  YEARS.  29 

appeared  on  the  scene  when  this  horse-play  hecame 

very   uproarious.      Mr.   became   so   fond   of  his 

young  friend  that  be  took  him  to  tea  at  his  house  one 
evening,  and  introduced  him  to  his  daughters,  two 
very  pretty  girls.  After  tea  he  asked  his  guest  to  lead 
in  prayer.  But  this  was  a  length  to  which  the  boy 
could  not  be  induced  to  go.  Indeed,  that  he  was  asked 
to  do  it  made  such  an  impression  on  him  that  he  made 
up  his  mind  never  again  to  attend  tbe  Sunday  evening 

meetings.     Years  after  this  Mr. had  occasion  to 

go  to  .Richmond,  Virginia,  and  he  made  many  inquiries 
about  a  much  valued  friend,  young  Mr.  Gregory,  who 
had  come,  he  said,  from  that  part  of  the  world,  and 
whom  he  had  lost  sight  of,  much  to  his  regret.  Of 
course  he  found  no  trace  of  him.  His  mother,  who 
heard  of  these  inquiries,  was  greatly  diverted.  She  had 
had  many  a  hearty  laugh  over  the  stories  of  his  esca- 
pades under  the  assumed  name,  for  it  was  all  too  good 
to  be  kept  from  her.  His  mother  went  very  often 
from  her  Yirginia  home  to  visit  her  brother  in  ls"ew 
York.  The  devotion  of  Thomas  to  her  was  one  of 
the  strongest  feelings  of  his  nature.  After  her  death, 
which  did  not  occur  till  he  was  nearly  sixty  years  of 
age,  he  said  tbat  he  had  never  said  a  disrespectful  word 
to  his  mother  in  his  life.  During  her  lifetime  he  never 
failed  to  go  to  visit  her  every  other  year,  after  he 
moved  out  to  Mississippi.  Until  railroads  were  built 
this  journey  was  performed  in  stages  and  by  steam- 
boats, and  it  could  not  be  made  in  less  than  two  weeks. 
Each  time  he  took  one  or  two  of  his  children  with  him, 
that  he  might  show  them  to  her  in  turn.  The  last 
child  that  was  taken  to  her  of  the  nine  that  she  lived 
to  see  was  the  first-born  girl,  her  own  little  namesake, 
Sarah.  He  had  greatly  desired  to  have  a  daughter, 
that  she  might  bear  his  mother's  name. 

Wbilehe  ljyed  wjth_I)r-  SflaiLb  he  did  all  the  family 
marketing.  He  also  frequently  went  with  him  when 
surgical  operations  were  to  be  performed.  He  learned 
so  much  from  him  in  surgery  as  to  be  of  lasting-  service 
to_ Jum  in  the  care  of  his  8ervahTs"Tfn~bis-- plantation. 
It  was  often  said  of  hTnTTEaT~Ee~§hOulcl  have  been  a 

3* 


30        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

physician.  His  steady  hand  and  strong  nerve  fitted 
hini  especially  for  the  practice  of  surgery.  When  ho 
was  fourteen  years  old  the  war  of  1812  broke  out.  A 
report  came  to  the  Gloucester  home  that  the  British 
were  making  a  demonstration  of  landing  at  Old  Point 
Comfort.  The  State  of  Virginia  called  for  men  to  go 
to  the  defence  of  the  Point,  and  among  the  drafted 
men  was  Mrs.  Benjamin  Dabney's  overseer.  I  shall 
give  the  account  of  this  in  Mammy  Harriet's  words. 
She  was  a  child  twelve  years  of  age  at  the  time,  and 
never  forgot  the  scenes  then  witnessed. 

"  'Course  I  'member  when  Mars  Thomas  went  off  to 
de  wars.  What's  to  hender  me  from  'memberin'  ?  He 
warn't  grown,  you  know.  He  was  just  like  Mars  Ben, 
he  own  son  Ben,  when  he  went  off  to  fight.  You  all 
know  how  you  fix  him  up  to  go  off  to  fight?  Jest  so 
he  ma  fix  him  up,  and  put  him  on  de  horse  to  ride  to 
Old  Point  Comfort.  De  horse  was  Juno  colt.  Don't  I 
know  Juno?  She  was  one  of  missis  carriage-horses, 
an'  she  used  to  stan'  straight  up  on  her  hin'  legs  when 
she  was  put  to  de  carriage.  You  see  dey  come  an'  call 
for  de  overseer,  Maja,  an'  he  was  mighty  skeered,  an'  he 
cum  hollerin'  to  de  house,  Mrs.  Dabney !  Mrs.  Dabney ! 
Whar  is  she  ?'  Den  she  cum  out  an'  tell  her  son  Thomas 
to  go  in  de  overseer  place,  'cause  de  overseer  was  of 
use  on  de  place.     Mars  Thomas  was  delighted  to  go." 

Mrs.  Dabney  sent  him  on  a  lame  horse,  telling  him 
that  a  lame  horse  was  good  enough  to  advance  on,  but 
would  not  do  for  a  retreat.  Her  brother,  Colonel 
Thomas  Smith,  was  already  in  camp  at  Old  Point 
Comfort,  and  Thomas  was  sent  to  join  him.  At  the 
end  of  three  weeks  it  was  seen  that  this  place  would 
not  be  attacked,  and  Thomas  returned  home.  He  was 
through  life  a  soldier  at  heart.  Perhaps  this  early 
taste  of  the  military  life  made  the  indelible  impression. 
His  step  and  bearing  were  those  of  a  soldier,  and  this 
appearance  was  heightened  by  the  old  style  of  dress, — 
the  swallow-tailed,  blue  cloth  coat  and  gold-plated  but- 
tons. This  was  his  dress  till  he  was  over  sixty  years 
of  age,  when  he  no  longer  had  the  means  to  pay  for 
the  costly  clothes. 


MARRIAGE  AND  LIFE  AT  ELMINGTON.         31 

On  the  breaking  up  of  the  camp  at  Old  Point  Com- 
fort, Thorn  asan  d  ^August  In  e  were  sent  to  the  college 
of  WilfhgxQtnd  Mary.  Here  they  were  once  more 
under  the  eye  of  Dr.  John  Augustine  Smith,  who  had 
just  been  called  to  the  presidency  of  the  college.  A 
house  was  rented  for  the  two  boys,  and,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  a  cook  and  a  body-servant  apiece,  they  kept 
house  during  their  collegiate  course.  Thomas  was 
there  for  a  comparatively  short  time,  being  called  to 
take  charge  of  Elmington.  At  this  time  his  mother 
contracted  a  second  marriage,  with  Colonel  James  H. 
Macon,  of  New  Kent  County,  and  she  moved  to  his 
home,  Mount  Prospect,  in  that  county. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MARRIAGE   AND   LIFE   AT  ELMINGTON. 

On  the  6th  of  June,  1820,  Thomas  was  married  to 
Miss  Mary  Adelaide  Tylar.  daughter  of  Chancellor 
Samuel  Tyler,  of  Williamsburg.  jEte 'was  at  this "fime 
tWeTfTty"-t wo*years~ old!  Thlslady  lived  only  three^vears. 
Of  this  marriage  were  born  two  cKTIdreh,  "Benjamin 
Augustine  and  SamuelTyler!  S  a  muerHTed  i .  n ..  infa ncy. " 
Augustine  lived~To~be~nTne  years  old,  a  gentle,  quiet 
boy7"who  early  showed  signs  of  the  disease  of  which 
he  djecL^water  on  the  brain. 

When  Thomas  TJabney  had  been  a  widower  about 
three  years,  he  met^at  the  county  ball  .at  King  and 
Q ueeri  Court-House  Miss  Sophia  Hill,  the  daughter  of 
Mr.  Charles  Hill  of  that  county.  She_was  but  sixteen 
years  of  age,  and  this  was  her  first  ball.  AITwT30~saw 
her  at  that  time  say  that  she  was  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  creatures  that  the  eye  ever  rested  on.  Her 
hair  and  eyes  were  of  that  rare  tint  called  the  poet's 
auburn,  and.  her  complexion  was  the  fair,  fine  skin  that 
is  found  only  with  such  hair.  Teeth  of  snow,  a  shapely 
head  on  lovely  shoulders,  hands  and  arms  that  might 


32        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

have  served  as  models  for  a  sculptor,  and  a  charming 
smile,  and  one  of  the  sweetest  voices  in  the  world, 
made  up  a  combination  that  is  rarely  met  with.  To 
this  matchless  beauty  was  joined  a  sunny,  happy  dis- 
position and  bright  manner  that  made  her  irresistible  in 
her  youthful  grace. 

Thomas  Dabney  always  said  that  he  fell  violently  in 
love  with  her  as  soon  as  his  eyes  fell  on  her  across  the 
ball-room.  He  lost  no  time  in  securing  an  introduction, 
and  before  the  evening  was  over  he  was  resolved  on 
winning  this  lovely  girl  for  his  wife.  He  found  several 
formidable  rivals  in  the  way,  but  he  was_s_o  fogtu£aj^eas 
to  win  her  young  heart.  He  drove  from  hisTiome  in 
Gloucester  to  her  father's  home,  Mantua,  on  the  Mata- 
pony  River,  in  King  and  Queen  County,  every  two 
weeks  during  the  two  months'  engagement.  He  wont 
in  his  gig,  with  his  body-servant  following  on  horse- 
back. Each  time  he  took  a  gift, — sometimes  hand- 
some jewelry,  and  at  other  times  volumes  of  standard 
English  authors. 

On  each  alternate  week  he  wrote  a  letter  to  her. 
None  of  these  letters  were  answered.  He  looked  for 
no  acknowledgment, — his  thought  was  that  he  was 
honored  sufficiently  by  her  receiving  them.  This  he 
expressed  many  years  after,  in  speaking  of  a  nephew 
who  had  complained  that  his  betrothed  did  not  write 
as  often  as  he  did. 

The  marriage  took  place  at  the  Mantua  house,  on 
the  26th  oTTEJiiie,  1826.  The  ceremony  was  performed 
by  the  Rev.  John  Coles,  in  the  midst  of  a  large  com- 
pany of  relatives  and  friends.  One  who  saw  the  bride 
the  next  day  said  that  as  she  sat  in  her  soft  white  gown, 
with  her  fnir  hands  crossed  in  her  lap  and  a  smile  on 
the  beautiful  face,  she  was  like  the  vision  of  an  angel. 

On  that  day  Thomas  took  her  home  to  Elmington. 
Her  beauty  and  gentleness  and  modesty  won  the  hearts 
of  his  friends.  Mrs.  Mann  Page,  of  Gloucester,  was 
celebrated  for  her  beautiful  hands,  but  after  Sophia 
came,  it  was  acknowledged  that  hers  surpassed  Mrs. 
Page's  in  beauty.  She  found  Elmington  full  of  her 
husband's  servants,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  take 


MARRIAGE  AND   LIFE  AT  ELMINGTON.         33 

care  of  him  during  his  life  as  a  widower.     She  feltsby 
about  taking  things  into  her  own  hands,  fearing"'toT 
excite  their  jealousy,  and  she  took  no  voice  in  the 
housekeeping  for-  two  ye,a,ra 

The  butlei^  Gejorge  Orris,  was  quite  equal  to  the  trust 
committed  to  him.  It  was  only  necessary  to  say  to 
him  that  a  certain  number  of  guests  were  looked  for 
to  dinner,  and  everything  would  be  done  in  a  style  to 
suit  the  occasion.  George  himself  was  said  to  know 
by  heart  every  recipe  in  Mrs.  Randolph's  cookery-book, 
having  been  trained  by  that  lady  herself.  Virginia 
tradition  says  that  Mrs.  Randolph  had  spent  three  for- 
tunes in  cooking.  At  the  appointed  hour,  in  knee- 
breeches  and  silk  stockings  and  silver  buckles,  George 
came  to  announce  that  dinner  was  served. 

George  was  so  formidable  in  his  dignity  of  office  that 
the  timid  young  wife  stood  quite  in  awe  of  him,  and 
before  she  learned  to  know  the  good,  kind  heart  that 
beat  under  that  imposing  appearance,  was  actually 
afraid  to  ask  for  the  keys  to  get  a  slice  of  bread  and 
butter  in  her  husband's  house.  Some  one  asked  George 
how  he  liked  his  new  mistress.  "  I  like  her  very  much," 
was  the  reply,  "only  she  wears  her  under  petticoat 
longer  than  the  top  one."  She  was  much  amused  on 
this  being  repeated  to  her,  and  explained  that  the 
white  satin  wedding-gown  which  George  had  seen  her 
wear  to  her  own  dinner-parties  was  longer  than  the 
lace  overdress  that  covered  it.  George  was  sincerely 
mourned  at  his  death,  which  occurred  a  few  years 
later. 

The  lady's-maid,  Abby,  whom  Sophia  found  at  El- 
mington,  was  in  her  department  as  accomplished  and 
as  faithful  as  George  Orris  was  in  his.  She  took  the 
new  mistress  at  once  all  over  the  house,  giving  her  an 
inventory  of  everything  that  had  been  left  in  her  cai'e. 
In  speaking  of  this  afterwards,  when  both  mistress  and 
maid  were  grown  old  together,  Sophia  said  that  not 
even  the  smallest  thing  had  been  misappropriated  by 
those  honest  hands. 

On  the  27th  of  March  of^the  following  year  j;he  first 
childjazjaaJbLQrnj^  The  happy] parents  gave  turn  the  nairre 


34        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

of  Charles.  But  the  child  lived  only  nine  months..  On 
Chsfstmas-day,  1828,  a  second  son  was  given  to  them, 
w  hojn_Jbej^n^mecl_T  homas.  Then  followed  James,  an- 
other Charles,  and  YTrgiiilttB. 

The  life  at  ElmiTigtonjEas  the  ideal  life  of  a  Virginia 
"gentlei-naTi  .  Elmington  was  situated  on  an  arm^oftrtre 
Chesapeake  Bay,  the  North  River,  in  the  county  of 
Gloucester,  that  has  so  often  been  called  the  garden- 
spot  of  Virginia. 

The  house  was  of  red  brick,  quaint  and  old-fashioned 
in  design.  It  was  built  very  near  the  water's  edge. 
The  lapping  of  the  waves  of  the  incoming  tide  was  a 
sweet  lullaby  to  the  quiet  scene,  as  the  eye  rested  on 
the  greensward  of  the  lawn,  or  took  in  the  bend  of 
the  river  that  made  a  broad  sweep  just  below  the  Elm- 
ington garden.  The  North  River  is  half  a  mile  wide. 
On  the  other  shore  could  be  seen  the  groves  and  fields 
and  gardens  of  the  neighboring  country-seats.  The 
low  grounds  on  the  river-shore  extend  back  a  dis- 
tance of  a  mile  and  three-quarters,  and  lie  like  a  green 
carpet,  dotted  here  and  there  with  grand  old  forest- 
trees,  and  corn,  wheat,  rye,  and  tobacco  fields.  Far  as 
the  eye  can  reach  stretches  this  fair  view  around  Elm- 
ington. And  far  over,  beyond  field  and  grove  and 
creek,  rises  the  line  of  soft,  round  hills  that  mark  the 
highlands  of  Gloucester. 

On  the  land  side,  the  Elmington  house  was  ap- 
proached through  the  fields  by  a  lane  a  mile  and  three- 
quarters  long.  It  was  broad  enough  to  admit  of  three 
carriage-drives.  Many  of  the  lanes  in  Gloucester  lie 
between  avenues  of  cedar-trees,  and  the  fields  in  most 
of  the  estates  are  divided  by  cedar-hedges.  It  was  so 
on  the  Elmington  lands. 

About  four  miles  inland  from  the  North  River,  in  a 
quiet  spot,  surrounded  by  venerable  oak  and  pine  and 
walnut  and  other  native  trees,  stands  old  Ware  Church. 
It  was  built  in  colonial  times,  and  its  age  is  unknown. 
It  is  nearly  square  in  form,  and  altogether  unlike,  the 
present  style  of  church  architecture  in  this  country. 
But  its  ancient  walls  are  churchly,  and  the  look  of  un- 
changeablcness  is  soothing  to  the  spirit  in  this  world 


MARRIAGE  AND   LIFE  AT  ELMINGTON.         35 

of  unrest.  This  was  the  parish  church  attended  by 
the  North  River  people.  The  old  pew-backs  at  that 
day  were  so  high  that  the  occupants  were  invisible  to 
each  other.  Many  of  them  might  read  the  names  of 
their  deceased  ancestors  on  the  tombstones  that  served 
as  a  floor  for  the  chancel.  The  floor  of  Ware  Church 
was  made  of  flagstones.  Stoves  were  not  then  in  use 
in  churches,  nor  was  any  attempt  made  to  heat  them. 
Delicate  people  stayed  at  home  in  the  winter,  or  had 
warming-pans  of  coals  carried  in  by  their  servants  to 
put  to  their  feet. 

Gloucester  County  had  been  settled  by  the  best  class 
of  English  people  who  came  to  this  country,  the 
younger  sons  of  noble  houses,  and  other  men  of  stand- 
ing, who  were  induced  to  make  their  homes  over  here 
by  an  inherent  love  of  change,  or  because  they  had  not 
the  means  to  live  in  the  mother-country  in  the  extrava- 
gant style  required  by  their  station.  These  brought 
to  their  homes  in  the  New  World  the  customs  and 
manners  of  the  Old.  The  tone  of  society  has  always 
been  truly  English  in  Lower  Virginia,  the  "  tide-water 
country,"  as  the  people  love  to  call  it.  Everybody 
kept  open  house ;  entertaining  was  a  matter  of  course, 
anything  and  everything  was  made  the  occasion  of  a 
dinner-party.  The  country-seats  were  strung  along 
the  banks  of  the  North  River  in  a  way  to  favor  this. 
A  signal  raised  on  one  could  be  seen  for  several  miles 
up  and  down  the  river.  If  one  of  the  colored  fisher- 
men, whose  sole  occupation  was  to  catch  fish  for  the 
table  at  the  Great  House,  as  they  called  their  master's 
residence,  succedeed  in  catching  a  sheep's-head,  his 
orders  were  to  run  up  a  signal-flag.  This  was  an  invita- 
tion to  dinner  to  every  gentleman  in  the  neighborhood. 
If  a  rabbit  was  caught  the  same  rule  was  observed. 
Rabbits  were  not  common,  which  seemed  to  be  the 
pretext  for  this,  for  they  were  not  really  esteemed  as  a 
dainty  dish.  A  rabbit  was  served  up  rather  as  a  trophy 
of  the  hunt  than  as  a  part  of  the  feast  intended  to  be 
eaten.  But  the  sheep's-head  in  those  waters  were  not 
uncommon,  and  one  was  taken  by  the  fisherman  of  one 
house  or  another  nearly  every  day.     At  five  minutes 


36        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

before  the  time  for  dinner  the  gentlemen  would  ride 
up,  or  come  by  boat  to  the  door  of  the  house  that  had 
the  signal  flying.  If  any  one  was  unable  to  attend,  his 
servant  rode  up  promptly  with  a  note  of  regrets. 
Punctuality  in  the  observance  of  all  the  rules  of  cour- 
tesy and  good  breeding  seemed  inherent  in  the  men 
and  women  in  Gloucester  society.  In  his  Mississippi 
life  Mr.  Dabney  was  often  annoyed  by  the  different 
manners  of  his  neighbors  out  there,  very  few  of  whom 
thought  it  necessary  to  send  regrets  or  apologies  when 
his  invitations  could  not  be  accepted. 

Old  Bishop  Moore  would  go  two  or  three  miles  out 
of  his  way  in  order  to  spend  a  day  or  two  at  Elmington. 
One  night  at  about  ten  o'clock,  in  the  midst  of  a  snow- 
storm, he  drove  up.  A  game  of  whist  was  going  on  in 
the  dining-room.  Mr.  Dabney,  hearing  the  sound  of 
his  carriage-wheels,  went  out  to  welcome  the  guest, 
and  found  the  bishop  and  his  daughter  there.  While 
he  was  helping  the  old  gentleman  to  get  out  of  his 
great-coat  before  taking  him  in  to  the  dining-room, 
the  company  there  were  busy  hiding  away  the  cards. 
Meanwhile,  Bishop  Moore  was  telling  him,  with  hands 
upraised,  of  the  cause  that  had  brought  his  daughter 
and  himself  out  in  such  weather  and  at  such  an  hour, 
— the  people  at  whose  house  they  had  intended  to  sleep 
they  had  found  engaged  in  a  game  of  whist  1  Mr. 
Dabney  roared  with  merriment  in  telling  this  story. 
"  The  bishop  saw  the  devil  behind  every  card,"  he 
always  added. 

At  this  time  John  Tyler,  afterwards  President  of  the 
United  States,  was  among  his  intimate  friends,  and  he 
wrote  to  ask  if  he  could  come  to  Elmington  for  a  week 
of  absolute  rest  and  quiet.  Upon  the  invitation  being 
sent,  he  came,  and  his  wishes  were  respected  in  tho 
true  Virginia  manner  of  letting  the  guests  of  tho 
house  be  happy  and  comfortable  in  their  own  way. 
He  sat  all  day  over  his  papers,  no  one  being  allowed 
to  intrude  on  his  privacy.  Every  evening,  when  he 
came  down  to  dinner,  he  found  a  company  invited  to 
dine  with  him. 

Augustine  Dabnej7  had  married  Miss  Elizabeth  Smith, 


MARRIAGE  AND  LIFE  AT  ELMINGTON.         37 

of  Fredericksburg,  and  lived  in  Gloucester,  back  in  the 
country  some  miles  from  the  North  River.  Thomas's 
nearest  neighbor  and  most  valued  friend  was  his  father's 
half-brother,  Dr.  James  Dabney.  Living  on  adjoining 
estates,  their  homes  were  barely  a  stone's  throw  apart, 
and  not  many  hours  of  the  day  passed  without  inter- 
course between  the  two  houses.  The  uncle  and  nephew 
were  congenial  in  many  ways,  and  Sophia  revered  and 
loved  Dr.  Dabney  like  a  father.  Thomas's  aptitude  for 
medicine  and  surgery  was  at  times  so  helpful  to  Dr. 
Dabney,  that  he  fell  into  a  way  of  calling  on  him  fre- 
quently to  assist  him.  He  used  to  say  that  Thomas's 
soft  hand  and  acute  sense  of  touch  enabled  him  at 
times  to  diagnose  a  case  that  would  baffle  a  practitioner  _ 
of  considerable  experience  who  was  not  possessed  of 
these  natural  advantages.  He  always  had  him  at  hand 
in  his  surgical  cases  if  possible,  and  thus,  under  this 
uncle,  were  renewed  the  lessons  given  by  Dr.  Smith. 
Dr.  Dabney  was  a  man  made  of  no  common  clay.  His 
hospitality  was  on  so  princely  a  scale  that  he  made  no 
charge  for  medical  services  to  any  stranger  visiting  his 
county,  thus  making  the  whole  county  of  Gloucester 
his  home.  Although  for  many  years  a  widower,  with 
only  two  children,  both  sons,  the  arrangements  of  his 
home  were  set  with  a  view  to  a  large  household. 
Everything  was  on  a  scale  liberal  even  for  Gloucester. 

A  lady  now  sixty-eight  years  of  age  writes  thus  of 
Dr.  James  Dabney :  "  He  stood  very  high  in  his  profes- 
sion. He  was  a  widower  from  my  earliest  recollection. 
He  had  a  housekeeper  and  five  servants,  and  enter- 
tained people  by  the  score  for  months  at  a  time.  Even 
ladies  used  to  stay  there  from  cities." 

His  home,  the  Exchange,  was  seldom  without  its 
guests  of  a  day,  or  a  week,  or  many  months.  The 
ample  fortune  of  the  host  justified  the  elegant  hospi- 
tality of  the  house. 

He  had  expended  the  whole  of  his  patrimony  during 
his  five  years  at  the  medical  school  in  Edinburgh.  On 
his  arrival  in  America,  after  graduating  in  medicine,  he 
was  obliged  to  borrow  five  hundred  dollars  in  order  to 
open  his  office  as  a  practitioner  of  medicine  at  Gloucester 

4 


38        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

Court-House.  It  was  not  long  before  bis  ability  brought 
him  into  a  large  practice,  not  only  in  Gloucester  County, 
but  he  was  called  to  Bichmond,  Norfolk,  and  other 
places  as  consulting  physician. 

In  the  midst  of  Dr.  Dabney's  busy  professional  life 
bis  friends  and  neighbors  called  on  him  to  represent 
bis  county  in  the  Virginia  Legislature.  This  he  refused 
to  do,  alleging  that  he  had  no  time  for  political  work. 
But  they  were  so  persistent  that  he  finally  yielded. 
He  stipulated,  however,  that  he  would  not  make  one 
electioneering  visit  or  ask  for  a  single  vote.  In  this 
he  remained  firm,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  absent 
himself  from  the  polls  on  the  day  of  election.  He 
was  elected  by  a  large  majority,  and  he  served  the 
term  out.  His  county  people  tried  hard  to  induce  him 
to  allow  his  name  to  appear  a  second  time  as  a  candi- 
date for  the  Legislature.  But  he  was  not  to  be  moved 
from  his  resolution  of  devoting  himself  henceforth  to 
his  profession.  , 

The  strong  character  of  Dr.  James  Dabney  made 
its  impress  on  Thomas.  Doubtless  he  had  inherited 
some  of  the  traits  with  the  blood  of  this  large-souled 
uncle. 

Dr.  Dabney's  views  about  his  own  interment  were 
very  simple.  He  required  from  his  son  James  a  prom- 
ise to  carry  them  out  on  his  death,  and  his  last  wishes 
were  respected.  He  was  placed  in  a  plain  pine  coffin, 
and  no  stone  was  set  up  to  mark  bis  grave.  A  brick 
wall  saves  it  from  desecration.  Like  his  uncle,  Thomas 
had  a  repugnance  for  costly  and  showy  funeral  trap- 
pings. He  earned  out  these  views  in  his  own  house- 
bold.  He  always  expressed  a  desire  to  be  buried  him- 
self as  he  buried  his  loved  ones,  in  a  plain  pine  coffin. 
"  That  I  may  return  as  quickly  as  possible  to  the  origi- 
nal elements  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth." 

This  taste  was  in  accordance  with  the  simplicity  of 
character  of  the  two  men.  They  did  nothing  for  show 
during  their  lifetime,  and  did  not  desire  anything  done 
for  show  over  their  ashes. 

In  colonial  "days  a  robe  of  silk  was  spun  and  woven 
for  the  Merrie  Monarch  in  Gloucester  County,  and  in 


MARRIAGE  AND   LIFE  AT  ELMINGTON.        39 

the  .garret  of  the  Exchange  the  silk-worms  spun  the 
silk  for  two  complete  suits  for  General  Washington. 
In  color  they  were  gray.  Thomas  Dabney  remembered 
seeing  the  silk-worms  up  there  when  a  child,  and  his 
aunt  Anderson,  who  presented  these  suits  to  General 
Washington,  used  occasionally  to  give  him  a  cocoon  for 
a  plaything. 

Thomas  P^hinftjjvpa  intm-fisted  in  all  that,  "w^P.  gnillg- 
on  in  Virginia.  He  rode  to  Eichmond  frequently. 
When  it  was  known  that  Watkins  Leigh,  or  E.  G.  Scott, 
or  the  Stannards,  or  any  other  of  the  distinguished  men 
of  that  day,  were  to  engage  in  a  debate,  he  was  pretty 
sure  to  be  there  to  hear  them.  Thomas  was  present 
at  the  famous  dinner  at  Yorktown  given  in  honor  of 
the  nation's  guest,  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette.  At  the 
table  he  was  placed  next  to  George  Washington  Lafay- 
ette, who  occupied  the  seat  next  to  his  father.  It  was 
in  the  month  of  October,  and  there  was  a  small  dish 
of  red  Antwerp  raspberries  sent  by  Mrs.  Tayloe  of 
Mount  Airy.  They  came  from  her  hot-houses,  and 
were  set  before  General  Lafayette.  The  courteous 
gentleman  leaned  across  his  son  and  offered  the  berries 
to  Thomas.     He  took  two. 

The  story  is  still  told  in  Gloucester  of  Thomas's 
capture  of  a  man  by  the  name  of  Crusoe,  living  in  the 
lower  part  of  the  count}r.  This  man  had  acted  for 
some  years  in  open  defiance  of  the  oyster  law.  No 
sheriff  had  arrested  him.  He  openly  boasted  that  none 
should.  Thomas  had  lately  been  elected  to  this  office, 
and  he  determined  to  make  an  attempt  to  capture 
Crusoe.  Summoning  a  posse  of  three  of  his  neigh- 
bors, he  proceeded  in  a  boat  down  the  river  to 
Crusoe's  schooner,  that  was  lying  out  in  York  Eiver. 
The  schooner  was  well  built  and  in  stanch  condition, 
while  the  boat  which  held  Thomas  and  his  friends 
was  a  wretched  water-logged  craft.  As  they  drew 
near  Crusoe's  schooner,  the  sheriff  called  out  to  him  to 
surrender.  The  only  reply  made  to  the  summons  was 
to  cover  the  little  boat  of  the  sheriff  and  his  party 
with  an  enormous  old  swivel-gun,  and  to  warn  them 
with  an  oath  not  to  advance  any  nearer.     Thomas  held 


40        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

a  consultation  with  his  friends,  telling  them  that  they 
must  decide  whether  they  were  willing  to  approach 
the  schooner  under  such  circumstances.  It  was  de- 
cided that  it  would  be  foolhardy  to  attempt  to  board  a 
well-equipped  boat  when  they  were  in  a  crazy  thing 
that  could  not  be  managed  in  an  emergency.  So  they 
went  back  home,  leaving  Crusoe  master  of  the  field  for 
the  time. 

Ascertaining  that  Crusoe  was  in  his  house  on  a  cer- 
tain night,  it  was  resolved  to  capture  him  there.  Ac- 
cordingly another  posse  was  summoned,  and  Thomas 
and  his  four  men  rode  to  the  man's  house,  a  distance  of 
about  twelve  miles.  They  surrounded  the  house,  and 
the  sheriff  knocked  at  the  door  and  demanded  instant 
surrender.  Crusoe's  wife  put  her  head  out  of  the 
window  up-stairs  and  said  that  her  husband  was  in 
bed ;  that  if  Mr.  Dabney  would  come  up-stairs  alone 
and  unarmed,  he  would  give  himself  up.  The  posse 
objected  to  these  conditions,  and  said  that  Mr.  Dabney 
should  at  least  be  accompanied  by  one  of  them,  or 
should  wear  his  arms.  But  he  called  to  the  woman 
that  he  was  ready  and  willing  to  come  up  on  Crusoe's 
terms. 

She  came  down  then  and  unbarred  the  door,  and  he 
followed  her  up  to  the  man's  room.  He  gave  himself 
up  at  once,  and,  at  the  sheriff's  bidding,  prepared  to 
mount  a  horse  and  go  with  him  as  his  prisoner.  He 
was  greatly  dejected  at  the  prospect  of  being  thrown 
into  prison  to  await  his  trial,  and  was  very  sulky  as 
they  rode  along.  The  party  did  not  stop  till  they  had 
reached  Elmington. 

When  dinner-time  came,  Thomas  ordered  dinner  to 
be  served  to  him,  but  he  refused  to  eat.  He  had  not 
tasted  food  the  whole  day.  Thomas  said  to  him,  "  Mr. 
Crusoe,  would  you  like  to  go  back  to  your  wife  to- 
night?" The  man  looked  up  quickly,  his  whole  coun- 
tenance changing.  "  I  mean  to  put  you  on  your  honor," 
the  sheriff  continued.  "  You  know  that  it  is  against  the 
law  for  me  to  release  you  without  bail.  I  will  be  your 
surety  that  you  will  be  at  Gloucester  Court-House  to 
pay  the  hundred  dollars'  fine  in  two  weeks." 


MARRIAGE  AND   LIFE  AT  ELMINGTON.         41 

The  man  was  much  moved,  and  shed  tears.  The 
sheriff  lent  him  his  own  horse  to  ride  home.  On  the 
appointed  day  he  was  at  the  court-house  with  the 
hundred  dollars  in  his  hand.  His  gratitude  to  the  man 
who  had  trusted  him,  one  who  had  been  an  outlaw  for 
years,  made  a  changed  man  of  him.  He  was  ever  after 
a  law-abiding  citizen,  and  was  Thomas's  stanch  friend 
as  long  as  he  lived. 

Crusoe  passed  away  years  ago,  but  his  son,  himself  an 
aged  man  now,  loves  to  tell  the  story  of  Mr.  Dabney's 
trust  of  his  father.  This  son  asked  Mr.  James  Dabney 
of  the  Exchange  if  he  was  a  relative  of  the  former 
sheriff,  and  on  hearing  that  they  were  cousins,  ex- 
pressed his  own  gratitude  and  his  father's  for  the 
confidence  placed  in  him  in  the  time  of  trouble.  The 
fifty  odd  years  that  have  passed  since  that  time  seem 
not  to  have  obliterated  it  from  the  memory  of  the 
Crusoe  family. 

At  the  time  when  the  negro  rising  known  as  the 
Southhampton  insurrection  was  threatened,  Thomas 
received  from  Governor  Floyd  a  commission  of  col- 
onel of  militia.  He  and  his  men  kept  their  horses  sad- 
dled and  bridled  in  the  stable  every  night  for  three 
weeks,  ready  for  any  alarm  or  emergency.  He  was 
an  accomplished  horseman,  and  sat  his  mettlesome, 
blooded  stallion  like  a  part  of  himself.  A  boy  in 
the  neighborhood,  whom  his  father  asked  if  he  would 
like  to  go  to  the  court-house  to  see  Colonel  Dabney's 
soldiers  drill,  said  in  reply  that  he  would  rather  see 
Colonel  Dabney  on  his  horse  at  the  head  of  his  regi- 
ment than  all  the  soldiers.  This  boy,  now  a  gray- 
headed  man  in  Baltimore,  delights  yet  in  talking  of 
those  days.  "  When  the  drum  and  the  fife  struck  up," 
he  says,  "that  was  the  time  that  we  boys  had  the  fun. 
Colonel  Dabney's  horse  sprang  into  the  air  and  seemed 
hardly  to  touch  the  ground,  and  we  wondered  how 
he  kept  his  seat." 

On  the  night  when  it  was  understood  that  the  negro 
rising  was  to  take  place  he  called  his  own  negroes  up, 
and  put  his  wife  under  their  charge,  as  his  duty  called 
him  away  from  her.     His  charge  to  them  was  that  not 

4*  ' 


42        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

only  was  she  to  be  protected  by  them,  but  she  was  not 
even  to  be  alarmed ;  and  if  harm  befell  a  hair  of  her 
head,  they  should  be  held  accountable  for  it.  The 
negroes  were  faithful,  and  guarded  the  house  all  night 
long,  and  with  so  much  tact  and  genuine  affection  that 
when  Thomas  Dabney  returned  to  his  home  the  next 
day,  his  wife  was  amazed  to  hear  from  his  lips  the 
story  of  the  peril  that  she,  along  with  every  white 
woman  in  Gloucester,  had  passed  through  during  the 
night. 

It  is  a  singular  circumstance  that,  with  the  exception 
of  the  negroes  on  the  Elmington  place,  not  a  negro 
man  was  to  be  found  in  Gloucester  County  on  that 
night  by  the  patrol.  It  was  supposed  that  the  daring 
spirits  had  gone  to  join  in  the  uprising,  while  the  timid 
ones  had  hidden  themselves  in  the  woods. 

About  the  year  1835  a  great  many  "Virginians  were 
induced  to  remove  with  their  families  to  the  far  South. 
For  several  reasons  Thomas  began  to  consider  the 
expediency  of  moving  out  to  the  then  new  country. 
He  was  considered  one  of  the  most  successful  wheat 
and  tobacco  farmers  in  his  part  of  the  State.  But 
the  expensive  style  of  living  in  Gloucester  began 
to  be  a  source  of  serious  anxiety.  He  knew  that 
with  a^young  and  growing  family  to  educate  and  pro- 
vide for  the  difficulty  would  be  greater  each  ■  year. 
He  felt  also  the  increasing  difficulty  of  giving  to  his 
negroes  the  amount  of  nourishing  food  that  he  consid- 
ered necessary  for  laboring  people.  In  view  of  these 
facts,  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  must  leave  his 
home  in  Virginia  for  a  new  one  in  the  cotton-planting 
States.  -— 

Many  and  great  were  the  regrets  when  it  became 
known  that  Thomas  Dabney  had  determined  to  leave 
Gloucester. 

The  farewell  dinner  given  to  him  at  the  court-house 
was  perhaps  the  most  notable  ever  given  within  the 
limits  of  the  county.  A  copy  of  the  Richmond  En- 
quirer, bearing  date  of  September  22,  1835,  contains 
the  published  account  of  the  proceedings  of  the  day, 
which  is  here  inserted. 


MARRIAGE   AND    LIFE  AT  ELMINGTON.         43 

EXTRACT     FROM     "THE     RICHMOND    ENQUIRER," 

SEPTEMBER  22,  1835. 

"  To  the  Editors  of  the  Enquirer  : 

"Gentlemen, — Under  cover  you  have  the  proceedings  which 
occurred  at  a  public  dinner  recently  given  by  many  citizens  of  this 
county  to  Colonel  Thomas  S.  Dabney,  the  insertion  of  which  in 
your  paper  of  an  early  day  is  desired.  I  have  the  honor  to  be 
your  ob't  serv't,  "  John  Tyler. 

"  DINNER  TO   COLONEL   THOMAS   S.    DABNET. 

"  Colonel  Dabney  being  about  to  move  to  the  State  of  Missis- 
sippi with  a  view  to  a  permanent  settlement  in  that  State,  many 
of  his  countymen  united  in  giving  him  a  public  dinner  at 
Gloucester  Court-House  on  the  12th  inst.  The  following  letters 
passed  on  the  occasion  : 

"  Gloucester  County,  Sept.  5th,  1835. 
"  Dear  Sir, — On  behalf  of  many  of  the  citizens  of  this  county, 
who  have  learned,  with  the  deepest  regret,  your  determination 
shortly  to  leave  Virginia  for  a  residence  in  another  State,  we  ten- 
der you  an  invitation  to  a  public  dinner  to  be  given  at  Gloucester 
Court-House,  on  such  day,  prior  to  your  departure,  as  may  best 
suit  your  convenience.  Those  whom  we  represent  are  desirous  of 
thus  publicly  manifesting  their  respect  towards  you  because  of 
their  high  estimate  of  your  character  as  a  man  and  your  conduct 
as  a  citizen.  We  trust  that  no  consideration  will  induce  you  to 
hesitate  in  yielding  to  their  wishes,  thereby  affording  them  an 
opportunity,  which  may  never  occur  again,  of  shaking  you  cor- 
dially by  the  hand  and  bidding  you  a  warm  and  affectionate 
adieu. 

"  "We  feel  ourselves  honored  in  having  been  made  the  channel 
of  this  communication,  and  subscribe  ourselves,  in  all  sincerity, 
your  faithful  and  sincere  friends, 

"William  Robbins, 
"  Thomas  Smith, 
"  John  Tyler, 
"  Mann  Page, 
"  Robert  Curtis. 
"  Col.  Thomas  S.  Dabney,  Elmington. 

"  Answer  of  Colonel  Dabney. 

"  Elmington,  Sept.  8th,  1835. 
"  Gentlemen, — Tour  greatly  esteemed  note  of  the  5th  inst.  on 
behalf  of  many  citizens  of  this  county,  tendering  me  a  public 
dinner,  has  been  received.  Deeply  sensible  as  I  am  that  the  honor 
proposed  to  be  conferred  upon  me  is  immeasurably  beyond  my 
merits,  yet  the  footing  upon  which  you  have  been  pleased  to  place 


44       MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER 

my  acceptance  or  refusal  leaves  me  no  alternative,  for  it  is  impos- 
sible I  can  refuse  my  long-tried  and  best  friends  an  opportunity 
of  bidding  me  adieu  prior  to  my  leaving  the  State ;  and  it  might 
not  become  me  to  prescribe  the  mode.  I  therefore  accept  the  in- 
vitation of  my  Gloucester  friends  with  profound  sensibility,  not 
only  for  the  distinguished  and  unexpected  mark  of  their  affection 
and  confidence  which  it  bespeaks,  but  also  for  the  numberless  ob- 
ligations with  which  they  have  been  loading  me  for  years  past. 
If  it  should  be  agreeable  to  yourselves,  gentlemen,  and  those  whom 
you  represent,  I  will  meet  my  friends  on  Saturday,  the  12th  inst. 
"  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  gentlemen,  with  perfect  respect  and 
esteem,  your  grateful  friend,  Thomas  S.  Dabney. 

"To  Capt.  Robbins,  Col.  Smith,  Gov.  Tyler,  Capt.  Page,  and  Col. 
Curtis. 


"  The  Rev.  E.  K.  Corbin,  Benj.  F.  Dabney,  Esq.,  and  Robert 
Nicholson,  Esq.,  who  are  also  about  to  leave  the  land  of  their  na- 
tivity, were  invited  guests,  the  last  of  whom  alone  attended.  The 
absence  of  the  other  two  gentlemen  was  much  regretted  by  all 
who  were  present.  Notwithstanding  the  inclemency  of  the  day, 
the  seats  at  the  table  were  filled.  The  tribute  of  respect  thus  paid 
to  one  of  our  most  valued  and  most  valuable  citizens  furnishes  an 
admirable  moral  to  the  rising  generation.  It  was  the  voluntary 
outpouring  of  the  heart,  in  testimony  of  a  well-spent  life,  offered 
by  his  neighbors,  countymen,  and  friends,  to  a  private  citizen, 
mingled  with  the  loss  which  our  society  is  destined  to  experience 
in  his  emigration.  Governor  Tyler  was  called  on  to  preside,  and 
Captain  Mann  Page  acted  as  Yice-President.  After  partaking 
of  an  excellent  dinner,  the  cloth  was  removed,  and  the  President 
addressed  the  meeting  in  a  few  brief  remarks.  He  said  that  he  had 
risen  to  propose  a  sentiment  which  he  was  sure  to  find  the  most 
cordial  unanimity  at  that  table,  and  he  had  as  little  doubt  on  the 
part  of  this  whole  community,  if  every  citizen  of  the  county  was 
there  assembled.  Those  present  had  met  to  render  a  tribute  of 
respect  to  a  native-born  citizen  of  the  county,  who,  after  having 
passed  the  spring,  and  in  some  degree  the  summer,  of  his  life 
among  them,  was  about  to  migrate  to  a  distant  State,  where  he 
trusted  he  might  reap  the  richest  harvest  of  reputation  and  wealth. 
Heaven  grant  that  his  days  may  be  long  in  the  land  which  he  pro- 
poses to  inhabit !  He  will  not  fail  to  think  of  the  land  of  his  fore- 
fathers and  the  friends  he  has  left  behind.  "We,  on  our  part,  can 
never  forget  that  Elmington,  while  his  dwelling-place,  was  the 
seat  of  unbounded  hospitality  and  of  all  the  social  virtues.  He 
would  say  no  more,  but  would  propose : 

"  '  Our  guest,  friend,  and  countyman,  Colonel  Thos.  S.  Dabney. 
His  departure  from  among  us  leaves  a  vacuum  in  our  society  not 
easily  to  be  filled.  He  will  be  to  Mississippi  what  he  has  been  to 
Virginia,  one  of  her  most  useful  and  valuable  citizens.' 


MARRIAGE  AND   LIFE  AT  ELMINGTON.         45 

"  After  the  applause  which  this  sentiment  elicited  had  subsided, 
Colonel  Dabney  returned  his  thanks  in  a  feeling  and  appropriate 
address,  of  which  we  regret  we  are  unable  to  furnish  more  than  the 
briefest  outline.  He  expressed  himself  to  be  most  deeply  affected 
by  the  kindness  manifested  towards  him.  The  motive  which  had 
led  to  this  assemblage,  the  sentiment  just  uttered,  and  the  warm 
response  with  which  it  had  met,  the  organ  through  whom  it  had 
been  announced, — all — everything  was  calculated  to  overpower  him 
with  sensibility.  He  stood  in  the  midst  of  long-tried  friends,  to 
whom  he  was  about  to  bid  an  affectionate  and  perhaps  last  fare- 
well. He  was  in  the  act  of  leaving  his  native  home,  and  the  land 
so  dear  to  his  affections.  Those  considerations  left  him  no  voice 
to  utter  one-half  of  what  he  felt.  The  prospect  of  bettering,  in  a 
worldly  point  of  view,  the  ultimate  condition  of  his  children  had 
induced  him  to  seek  a  place  of  abode  in  another  clime ;  and  he 
would  say  that  if  his  humble  bark,  pushed  out  in  what  was  to  him 
an  untried  ocean  of  adventure,  could  be  used  as  a  breakwater  by 
those  who  were  here,  or  their  children's  children,  when  engaged 
in  a  similar  voyage,  be  would  regard  himself  as  most  truly  happy. 
He  added  many  other  remarks,  and  concluded  by  offering  the  fol- 
lowing sentiment : 

"By  Colonel  Thos.  S.  Dabney:  'The  citizens  of  Gloucester 
County,  in  the  Old  Dominion  : 

'""Where'er  I  roam,  whatever  realms  I  see, 
My  heart,  untravelled,  fondly  turns  to  thee; 
Still  to  my  brothers  turns  with  ceaseless  pain, 
And  drags,  at  each  remove,  a  lengthened  chain." ' 

"  By  the  Vice-President :  '  Our  friends  emigrating  from  the 
County  of  Gloucester:  Health,  prosperity,  and  happiness  attend 
them.' 

"By  Captain  P.  E.  Tabb :  '  Our  Guest:  May  the  people  des- 
tined to  be  his  future  associates  know  his  virtues  and  appreciate 
bis  merits,  as  do  the  warm  hearts  met  this  day  to  testify  their  love 
and  respect  for  him.' 

"By  the  Vice-President:  'Our  Guest,  Bobert  Nicholson:  A 
worth y  son  of  the  ancient  dominion.' 

"Mr.  Nicholson  expressed  his  grateful  thanks  for  the  notice 
that  had  been  thus  taken  of  him. 

"  By  Mr.  Nicholson:  'The  State  of  Virginia — the  land  of  my 
forefathers.  My  greatest  boast  shall  ever  be  that  I  was  born  a 
Virginian.' 

"By  Colonel  Thomas  Smith  :  '  Our  friends  Thomas  Dabney, 
BichardB.  Corbin,  and  Benj.  F.  Dabney:  They  possess  our  love  and 
respect,  and  when  they  move  from  among  us  we  shall  not  forget 
them.' 

"  By  "Wade  Mosby,  Esq. :  '  The  memory  of  the  late  Philip  Tabb, 
one  of  Gloucester's  best  benefactors.' 

"  Mr.  Mosby  preceded  this  by  remarks  expressing  his  great 


46       MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

veneration  for  the  character  of  Mr.  Tabb,  which  called  for  an  ac- 
knowledgment from  Mr.  Philip  E.  Tabb,  as  the  representative  of 
the  family,  which  was  rendered  after  the  most  feeling  manner. 

"  By  C.  S.  Jones,  Esq. :  '  Colonel  Thomas  S.  Dabney:  May  the 
star  which  guides  his  destiny  lead  him  and  his  to  prosperity,  to 
everlasting  peace  and  happiness.' 

"  By  John  P.  Scott,  Esq. :  '  Mrs.  Thomas  Dabney,  to  whom  may 
be  applied  the  words  of  the  noble  Cornelia,  when  inquired  for  her 
jewels,  pointing  to  her  sons,  "  These  are  they."  '  Mrs.  Dabney's 
name  was  received  with  long-continued  applause. 

"  By  John  R.  Cary,  Esq. :  '  The  State  of  Mississippi :  She  will 
ore  long  contain  some  of  Virginia's  most  noble  sons  ;  she  will  not 
fail  to  cherish  and  honor  them.' 

"  By  Richard  Morriss,  Esq. :  '  Hinds  County  of  Mississippi :  A 
State  within  itself, — Jackson,  the  seat  of  government ;  Clinton, 
the  seat  of  science;  Raymond,  the  seat  of  justice;  and  Amster- 
dam, the  port  of  entry.' 

"By  Andrew  Yan  Bibber,  Esq.:  'Augustine  L.  Dabney: 
Though  not  with  us,  not  forgotten ;  one  worthy  of  all  remem- 
brance.' 

"By  A.  L.  Byrd,  Esq.:  'Colonel  Thos.  S.  Dabney :  I  have 
known  him  for  seventeen  years  ;  if  he  has  any  superior  in  those 
qualities  that  adorn  a  man,  I  should  like  to  see  him.' 

"  By  John  T.  Sea  well,  Esq. :  '  Wyndham  Kemp,  and  those  of 
our  fellow-countrymen  who  will  soon  join  him :  May  God  remem- 
ber me  as  I  remember  them.' 

"By  Dr.  P.  R.  Nelson:  'Virginia:  I  can  never  leave  thee  or 
forsake  thee, — 

' "  The  bridegroom  may  forget  his  bride 
Was  made  his  wedded  wife  yestereen, 
The  monarch  may  forget  the  crown 

That  on  bis  head  an  hour  has  been ; 
The  mother  may  forget  her  child 

That  hangs  so  sweetly  on  her  knee, 
Bat  I'll  remember  thee,  my  State, 
And  all  that  thou  hast  been  to  me."  ' 

"  By  Robert  Tyler,  Esq.:  'The  Emigrants:  With  sorrow  and 
regret  we  part  with  our  fellow-countrymen ;  but  if  they  will  go, 
we  pray  God  speed  them.' 

"  By*  C.  S.  Jones  :  '  "We  lose  in  our  friend  Colonel  Dabney  one 
of  Virginia's  most  valued  sons  ;  but  no  matter  where  his  destiny 
may  be  cast,  his  motto  will  still  be  "  States  rights  forever."  ' 

"  By  Wade  Mosby,  Esq. :  '  The  memory  of  Thomas  T.  Tabb, 
late  of  Todsbury :  Hospitable,  generous  Virginian, — who  that  knew 
thee  does  not  mourn  over  thy  grave,  and  shed  tears  for  thy  too 
early  death?' 

"By  J.  S.  Cary,  Esq. :  'Wyndham  Kemp,  Esq.,  of  Raymond, 
Mississippi :  Though  far  away,  thou  art  not  forgot.' 

"  By  A.  L.  Byrd,  Esq. :  '  Richard  R.  Corbin  and  Dr.  Benjamin 


LEAVING   THE   OLD  HOME.  47 

F.  Dabney :  They  are  about  to  leave  us.  with  our  friend  Colonel 
Dabney, — may  Heaven  crown  their  efforts  with  success.' 

"By  John  Tyler,  Esq.:  'The  good  old  County  of  Gloucester: 
Her  name  is  identified  in  history  with  the  names  of  Nathaniel 
Bacon  and  John  Page,  of  Kosewell.  The  one  resisted  the  arbi- 
trary acts  of  a  king's  governor,  the  other  of  a  king.  Let  us  cherish 
their  names  and  emulate  their  virtues.' 

"By  John  T.  Seawell,  Esq.:  'Mrs.  Thomas  Dabney:   "Take        tfM 
her  for  all  in  all,  these  eyes  shall  never  look  upon  her  likejigam."  '     f 
"  "  JSI  umeTOTis  "LrtheTTeh'tirnents  were  given,"  which  unfortunately 
did  not  reach  the  chair,  and  the  day  concluding,  terminated  a 
feast  as  full  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul  as  ever  it  has  been  our 
good  fortune  to  witness." 

Mr.  Dabney  gave  a  farewell  dinner  to  bis  friends  at 
Elraington.  As  tbe  concluding  toast  was  drunk, — it 
bad  been  proposed  by  the  host  to  their  meeting  again, — 
be  struck  off  the  stem  of  the  delicate  wine-glass  that  he 
held  in  bis  hand,  that  no  future  toast  should  be  drunk 
in  it,  be  said.  He  requested  that  each  guest  present 
should  break  bis  wine-glass  and  keep  it  as  a  memento. 
One  or  more  of  these  broken  glasses  are  still  preserved 
in  Gloucester. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

LEAVING  THE   OLD   HOME. 

Thomas  went  through  a  largo  part  of  Alabama, 
Louisiana,  and  Mississippi  looking  at  the  country  before 
deciding  on  a  body  of  land  in  Hinds  County,  Missis- 
sippi. He  succeeded  In  jmjxvbasing  four  TE^sancTacres" 
ironT"half  a  jozen jmtall  jarmers. 

The  an cestorFoF°Botb ""Thomas  and  Sophia  Dabney 
had  been  slave-owners.  The  family  servants,  inherited 
for  generations,  had  come  to  be  regarded  with  great 
affection,  and  this  feeling  was  warmly  returned  by  the 
negroes.  The  bond  between  master  and  servant  was, 
in  many  cases,  felt  to  be  as  sacred  and  close  as  tbe  tie 
of  blood. 

During  the  course  of  years  many  of  the  Elmington 


48        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

negroes  had  intermarried  with  the  negroes  on  neigh- 
boring estates. 

When  the  southern  move  was  decided  on,  Thomas 
called  his  servants  together  and  announced  to  them 
his  intention  to  remove,  with  his  family,  to  Mississippi. 
He  further  went  on  to  say  that  hp,  Hid  Tint  mr-nn  |p  tak-p. 
onejinwilling  servant  with  him.  His  plan  was  to  offer 
to  "buy  all  husbands  and  wives,  who  were  connected 
with  his  negi'oes,  at  the  owners'  pi'ices,  or  he  should,  if 
his  people  preferred,  sell  those  whom  he  owned  to  any 
master  or  mistress  whom  they  might  choose.  No 
money  difficulty  should  stand  in  the  way.  ^  Everything 
should  be  made  to  yield  to  the  important  consideration 
of  keeping  families  together.*) 

Without  an  exception,  the  negroes  determined  to 
follow  their  beloved  master  and  mistress.  They  chose 
rather  to  give  up  the  kinspeople  and  friends  of  their 
own  race  than  to  leave  them. 

Mammy  Harriet  says  of  this  time,  "  Master  was  good 
all  de  time.  He  do  all  he  could  to  comfort  he  people. 
When  he  was  gittin'  ready  to  move  to  Mississippi,  he 
call  'em  all  up,  an'  tell  'em  dat  he  did  not  want  any- 
body to  foller  him  who  was  not  willin'.  He  say,  all 
could  stay  in  Figinny,  an'  dey  could  choose  dey  own 
marsters  to  stay  wid.  Ebery  one  o'  he  own,  and  all 
who  b'long  to  de  odder  members  o'  de  fambly  who  was 
wid  him,  say  dey  want  to  foller  him,  'ceptin'  'twas  two 
ole  people,  ole  gray-headed  people,  who  was  too  ole  to 
trabble.  An'  dey  was  de  onliest  ones  leff  behind  on  dat 
plantation,  an'  dey  did  cry  so  much  I  did  feel  so  sorry 
for  dem.  I  couldn't  help  ciyin',  I  feel  so  sorry.  Our 
people  say,  'Ef  you  got  a  husband  or  a  wife  who  won't 
go  to  Mississippi,  leff  dat  one  behind.  Ef  j^ou  got  a 
good  marster,  foller  him.'  My  husband  b'long  to  Cap- 
pen  Edward  Tabb,  an'  marster  went  dyar  twice  to  try 
to  buy  him.  But  Cappen  Tabb  say  dat  no  money 
couldn't  buy  him  from  him.  Den  Mrs.  Tabb  say  dat 
she  would  buy  me,  an'  two  odder  people  dyar  wanted 
to  buy  me  too.  But  I  say  'No,  indeed!  Go  'long! 
I  shall  foller  my  marster.'  My  sister  want  to  go  wid 
marster,  too.     She  had  five  chillen  dat  was  goin'  wid 


LEAVING    THE   OLD  HOME.  49 

him.  I  was  standin'  by  marster  when  he  talk  to  dey 
father,  my  brer  Billy.  lie  say,  '  Billy,  your  children 
shall  not  lack  for  father  and  mother.  I  will  be  both 
father  an'  mother  to  them.'  I  heerd  him  say  dat  my- 
self, an'  he  did  it  too." 

The  five  brothers  and  sisters  were  ever  favorite  and 
trusted  servants.  I  did  not  know  till  I  heard  this 
account  from  Mammy  Harriet  the  special  reason  of 
their  being  favored  above  others.  I  often  heard  my 
father  speak  of  them  very  affectionately.  One  day 
he  said  that  he  had  never  had  occasion  to  punish  one 
of  them  but  once,  when  the  girl  had  frightened  the 
baby  Yirginius  by  telling  him  that  a  lion  would  catch 
him.  "  I  hated  to  punish  one  of  that  truthful,  honest 
family,"  he  said;  "but  my  orders  had  always  been 
that  no  child  of  mine  should  be  frightened  by  any  one, 
and  I  could  not  pass  it  over." 

When  it  was  resolved  to  leave  Virginia,  the  baby  boy 
was  named  Yirginius,  after  the  beloved  State  that  had 
given  birth  to  his  ancestors.  This  child,  the  youngest 
of  four  brothers,  was  but  six  months  old  when,  in 
September,  1835,  the  long  journey  southward  was 
begun. 

Sophia's  father  and  mother  and  her  two  sisters,  one 
married  to  Mr.  Lewis  Smith,  with  her  husband  and  two 
children,  Augustine  Dabney,  with  his  wife  and  family, 
and  other  kinsfolk  and  friends  had  become  quite  in- 
fatuated with  the  desire  to  go  with  Thomas  to  Mis- 
sissippi, and  a  number  of  these  arranged  to  undertake 
the  move  along  with  him.  Mr.  Charles  Hill  took 
charge  of  the  carriages  that  held  the  white  families, 
while  Thomas  had  the  care  of  the  negroes  and  wagons. 
The  journey  was  made  with  so  much  care  and  fore- 
thought that  not  a  case  of  serious  illness  occurred  on 
the  route.  The  white  families  were  quartered  at  night, 
if  practicable,  in  the  houses  that  they  found  along  the 
way.  Tents  were  provided  for  the  negroes.  The  mas- 
ter himself,  during  the  entire  journey,  did  not  sleep 
under  a  l'oof.  The  weather  was  perfect :  no  heavy  rains 
fell  during  the  two  months.  He  wrapped  himself 
in  his  great-coat,  with  sometimes  the  addition  of  a 
c       d  5 


50        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

blanket,  and  slept  all  night  in  their  midst,  under  one 
of  the  travelling  wagons. 

One  of  the  first  nights  on  the  road  was  spent  at  the 
house  of  Thomas's  cousin,  Mr.  Thornton,  of  King  Wil- 
liam County.  The  cousins  had  never  met,  but  Mr. 
Thornton,  heai'ing  that  the  moving  families  were  to 
pass  by  his  gate,  sent  to  beg  that  his  kinspeople  would 
stop  in  their  journey  for  a  day  or  two  and  refresh 
themselves  under  his  roof.  Thomas  sent  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hill  and  Sophia  and  the  children  to  accept  this  hos- 
pitality, feeling  unwilling  himself  to  leave  the  large 
number  of  negroes  under  his  care  for  even  one  night. 
Those  who  were  entertained  by  Mr.  Thornton  greatly 
enjoyed  it.  It  was  a  regret  to  Thomas  not  to  meet 
this  kinsman  of  his  father's.  This  regret  was  greatly 
increased  when,  during  the  Confederate  war,  he  learned 
of  the  death  in  his  country's  cause  of  a  noble  scion  of 
this  house,  the  lamented  Colonel  Thornton,  known  and 
beloved  as  "  Jack  Thornton." 

My  dear  father  was  very  fond  of  recounting  anecdotes 
and  incidents,  especially  in  his  table-talk,  of  brave  and 
generous  and  honorable  deeds.  At  such  times  his  eye 
kindled,  and  his  whole  face  glowed  with  the  intensity 
of  his  feeling.  It  was  quite  impossible  for  a  j7oung 
person  to  look  at  him,  and  to  hear  his  words  and  tones, 
without  an  aspiration  to  be  worthy  of  such  commenda- 
tion. 

The  stern  incorruptibility  of  his  wife's  father  was  a 
theme  on  which  he  had  talked  with  earnest  enthusiasm 
to  his  children.  He  was  very  fond  of  relating  an  occur- 
rence that  took  place  on  the  journey  from  Virginia  to 
Mississippi.  Somewhere  in  the  mountains  of  Tennes- 
see one  of  my  grandfather  Hill's  carriage-horses  had 
fallen  ill,  and  was  quite  incapable  of  proceeding  farther. 
Thomas  set  about  to  look  for  a  substitute;  meanwhile 
trying  such  remedies  as  he  could  think  of  for  the  ailing 
horse.  While  he  was  standing  by  the  beast,  a  country- 
man rode  up  on  a  fine,  powerful  horse.  At  once  Thomas 
inquired  if  he  would  sell  him.  To  his  surprise,  the  man 
answered  immediately  that  he  would  exchange  his  horse 
for  the  sick  one,  if  ten  dollars  were  added.     The  bar- 


LEAVING    THE   OLD  HOME.  51 

gain  was  made  in  a  few  minutes.  Then  Thomas  said 
to  the  man,  "  JSTow  you  have  the  money,  there  can  be 
no  objection  to  your  telling  me  the  fault  in  this  vigor- 
ous young  creature,  that  looks  to  me  like  a  very  valuable 
horse." 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  is  his  fault,"  the  countryman 
answered.  "  He  is  very  good  for  some  things, — for  draw- 
ing in  double  or  single  harness,  and  for  a  saddle  too,  and 
he  ain't  got  no  tricks.  He  is  as  gentle  as  a  cat.  But 
he  won't  tote  double.  Me  and  my  old  'oman  wants 
to  go  to  meetin',  that's  the  main  thing  that  we  wants 
a  horse  for,  and  he  won't  tote  us  both.  That's  the 
reason  that  I  want  your  horse.  I  ken  cure  him  very 
soon.  Thar  ain't  much  the  matter  with  him."  But 
the  man  was  mistaken.  In  a  few  hours  the  sick  car- 
riage-horse was  dead,  never  having  moved  from  the 
spot  where  he  had  been  sold  and  bought. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Hill,  who  had  fallen  somewhat  be- 
hind, came  along  over  the  same  road.  He  saw  the  great, 
hulking  mountaineer  weeping  bitterly  by  the  side  of  a 
dead  horse,  which  he  at  once  recognized  as  his  own. 
He  stopped  and  inquired  into  the  case,  and  the  man 
related  the  transaction,  attaching  no  blame  to  any 
one.  He  had  made  his  own  terms,  and  had  been  quite 
elated  with  his  bargain  until  he  found  that  none  of 
his  nostrums,  in  which  he  had  so  confidently  trusted, 
availed  anything. 

Mr.  Hill  rode  forward  to  Thomas  and  desired  him  to 
return  at  once,  and  to  see  that  the  man  was  quite  satis- 
fied before  leaving  him.  This  Thomas  did.  The  man 
said  that  five  dollars  more  "in  United  States  money" 
would  compensate  him  for  the  loss  that  he  had  sus- 
tained, and  his  tears  were  dried  in  a  moment  when  this 
was  handed  to  him.  Tennessee  was  in  those  days  but 
sparsely  settled,  and  the  simple  country  people  were 
delighted  to  receive  travellers,  and  to  give  them  the 
best  that  the  land  produced,  almost  considering  them- 
selves repaid  by  the  pleasure  of  their  company.  At 
one  house,  after  a  bountiful  supper  on  chickens,  eggs, 
butter,  cream,  honey,  and  other  country  delicacies,  for 
which  the  price  charged  was  so  insignificant  as  to  seem 


52        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

quite  absurd,  our  travellers  asked  what  the  charge 
would  be  if  they  spent  a  week  there.  Mine  host  re- 
plied that  he  could  hardly  say,  that  he  had  had  but  one 
boarder.  This  boarder  had  come  to  spend  a  week,  but 
had  stayed  on  and  on  till  two  months  were  passed,  and 
he  had  thought  that  one  dollar  a  week  was  about  the 
right  thing  to  charge  him.  His  horse,  he  added,  had 
cost  him  nothing,  and  so  there  had  been  no  charge  made 
for  him,  and  he  had  kept  fat  on  the  mountain  pastures. 


CHAPTER  IT. 

mammy  Harriet's  recollections. 

I  give  here  Mammy  Harriet's  account  of  the  journey, 
taken  down  by  me  as  she  sat  by  my  side  a  few  weeks 
ago : 

"  Wejeff  in  September,  when  dey  was  pullin'  fodder, 
an'  we__g]t_  to  "Mississippi  three  weeks  to  Christmas. 
Missis  had  so  much  patience  wTd^hfer  c h i 11  unT  Some- 
times she  gib  'em  one  pat  wid  her  low  slipper.  One 
pat  was  'nuff.  I  say,  ef  I  had  all  dem  chillun  I  should 
knock  some  on  'em  in  de  head  wid  de  odders.  On  dat 
road  I  come  to  somethin'  what  I  nebber  see  before ;  it 
'twas  a  log  town.  All  de  houses  was  made  out  o'  logs ; 
all  '  ceptin'  de  court-house.  Dat  was  weather-boarded. 
I  dunno  whar  'twas.  I  nebber  'quire  'bout  dat.  'Twas 
somewhar  'tween  Mississippi  an'  de  old  country.  We 
got  to  de  Injun  chief's.  And  de  young  Injuns  come 
from  de  muster.  Dey  had  on  dey  muster-close,  and 
dey  had  on  de  appleettes  on  dey  shoulders  and  de 
silver  ban's  on  de  hats.  Dey  was  de  grummest  people 
what  I  ebber  see.  Dey  look  mad  as  de  ole  scratch.  I 
thought  cert'inly  dey  would  speak  to  your  pa,  but  dey 
didn't  dat !  Dey  was  de  savagest-lookin'  people.  But 
dey  was  sosherble  wid  your  pa,  an'  gib  him  de  liberty 
o'  lettin'  us  hab  some  lumber  to  fix  a  place  to  sleep. 
Dey  was   de   headest   people  what  I  ebber  see.     We 


MAMMY     HARRIET. 


MAMMY  HARRIETS  RECOLLECTIONS.  53 

women  buss  out  larffin'  when  we  hear  'em  talk.  Dey 
was  mighty  savage  people.  We  butt  up  wid  a  whole 
parcel  on  'em  ebery  day.  Dyar  was  mos'  as  many  o' 
dem  trabellin'  as  dyar  was  o'  us.  I  was  'feared  on  'em. 
I  nebber  see  a  yaller  Injun  before.  In  Figinny  dey 
was  dark.  De  wife  o'  de  chief  ask  marster  to  let  her 
hab  de  ferry-boat  to  go  to  see  her  sick  daughter.  He 
had  'gaged  it  to  tik  us  over.     He  say  '  certainly.' 

"  One  day  a  beggar  come  'long,  an'  master  gib  her 
five  dollars.  Tour  pa  was  always  good ;  good  to  every- 
body. 

"  Marster  wa-s-so-ff&pd  to  ug^.  He  do  eberything  on 
dat  puM'ney^o^t-wa^for  our  good. 

"  Marster  do  all  hecoHldto  comfort  he  people. 

"  He  buy  fresh  meat,  salt  fish,  eberything.  Ef  he 
see  a  turnip-patch  or  cabbages  or  apples  or  'taters,  he 
say, '  G-o  on,  see  if  you  can  get  these  things.'  Sometimes 
dey  gib  'em  to  us,  sometimes  we  buy.  One  ole  man 
say,  '  I  want  a  'oman  to  live  wid  me.  Don't  you  think 
your  max'ster  would  let  me  have  a  'oman  or  a  chile  ?  I 
would  like  to  buy  you.  You  seem  to  be  a  very  likely 
'oman.' 

" ' Buy  who !  buy  me !'"  And  as  my  dear  old  black 
mammy  recalls  this  insult  to  herself  and  to  her  hon- 
ored master,  her  dim  eyes  kindle,  her  voice  is  full  of 
suppressed  feeling,  her  frame  at  its  height,  her  manner 
such  as  might  become  an  enraged  pythoness.  "  '  No, 
not  one !  Don't  you  know  marster  don't  want  to  sell 
none  o'  his  people?  We  are  follerin'  our  marster.  We 
ain't  no  nigger-traders.  No,  when  marster  sell  any  o' 
his  people  'tis  'cause  he  is  made  to  do  it.  'Tis  'cause  he 
cyarn't  do  nothin'  wid  'em  himself.  '* 

"  We  did  live  like  princes,  I  can  tell  you.  Sich  a 
cookin' !  sich  a  cookin' !  We  bile  greens  an'  ebery- 
thing. We  live  good;  we  did  that.  We  didn't  want 
for  nothin'.  All  had  umberillas,  ebery  one,  an'  when 
it  rain  you  see  all  dem  umberillas  go  up. 


*  Mammy's  testimony  here  is  pathetic.      One  of   the  four  negroes 
whom  her  master  sold  was  her  son. 


54        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

"Marster  did  eberything  to  comfort  be  people  on 
comin'  to  Mississippi,  eberything  to  comfort  'em. 

"Marster  gib  we  all  new  fryin'-pans  an'  buckets  for 
de  journey.  De  big  famblys  be  gib  two  buckets  to. 
You  see  we  sell  all  our  tbings.  We  git  good  prices  for 
'em,  too,  'fore  we  leff  Figinny.  He  gib  me  one  bucket. 
Dey  make  me  very  mad,  'cause  dey  tik  my  bucket  to 
water  de  horses  and  de  muels  an'  eberything.  I  say, 
'Who  got  my  bucket?'  Eberybody  say,  'I  dunno.'  So 
I  say,  '  Loin  my  bucket  alone ;  marster  done  gib  it  to 
me.  Nobody  sharn't  hab  it.'  Den  one  day  I  was 
settin'  down,  an'  my  bucket  was  by  me,  an'  de  ober- 
seer  or  some  o'  de  white  folks  sen'  for  my  bucket.  I 
say,  'Lem  my  bucket  'lone.  I  don't  keer  who  wants 
it.  Marster  gib  it  to  me.  Ef  he  want  it  he  ken  hab  it, 
but  nobody  else.'  Den  de  oberseer  come  an'  say, 
'  Harriet,  give  me  that  bucket.'  '  I  won't.  It  is  mine. 
Marster  gib  it  to  me.'  Den  he  went  to  marster  an'  tole 
him  dat  I  say  dat.  Den  marster  say,  '  You  let  Harriet 
alone ;  let  her  bucket  alone,  every  one  of  you.  Do  not 
toucb  it.' 

"When  we  come  to  Raymond  marster  say,  'This  is 
the  last  town.  If  you  want  to  buy  anything,  go  in  an' 
buy.' 

"  So  we  all  'eluded  dat,  seein'  'twas  de  las'  town,  we 
would  go  in  an'  buy.  I  went  in  an'  buy  cups  an' 
saucers  an'  plates  an'  coffee-pot  an'  things.  Den 
when  we  got  to  de  Burleigh  land  we  was  all  right.  I 
was  jes'  as  well  satisfied  as  eber  I  was  in  ole  Figinny 
jes'  as  soon  as  I  got  settled." 

Mammy  Harriet's  testimony  of  the  life  and  chai'acter 
of  her  master,  taken  down  in  the  freshness  of  her  grief 
for  his  loss,  is  not  arranged  with  any  system.  It  seems 
best  to  set  it  down  just  as  she  said  it.  She  grew  up 
with  him.  They  were  never  separated  until  the  last 
few  years  of  his  life,  when  he  had  not  the  means  of 
supporting  his  faithful  old  servants  about  his  person. 
He  did  not  fail  to  provide  her  with  such  comforts  as 
he  was  able  to  pay  for  as  long  as  he  lived.  "Law,. I 
tells  eberybody  dat  mammy  is  jes'  as  well  off  as  she 
was  in  slave'y  times,"  her  daughter  has  said,  in  seeing 


MAMMY  HARRIETS  RECOLLECTIONS.  55 

clothing  and  provisions  sent  to  her  mother  at  stated 
intervals.  "Law,  mammy  don't  hab  no  trouble  like  we 
all,  'cuz  de  white  folks  don't  forgit  hei\" 

"  I  hates  to  talk  'bout  him,"  she  says,  with  a  groan. 
"When  I  hear  'bout  it  I  thought  'twould  hab  kilt  me. 
I  nebber  had  such  feelin's  before.  I  cyarn't  'spress 
what  I  did  feel  'bout  it.  Oh,  my  good  marster  is  in 
glory,  but  we  couant  help  missin'  him ;  we  couant  help 
it.  I  nebber  was  so  surprised  in  my  life  as  when  I 
hear  'bout  it.  It  make  me  sick  an'  nervous  to  talk 
about  him  an'  about  dem  times ;  but  for  de  satisfaction 
ob  you  all  I  talk  'bout  him. 

"Ain't  you  ebber  see  your  grandma,  honey?  She 
always  was  pretty,  honey,  a  mighty  pretty  'oman. 
She  had  black  h}*ar  an'  eyes.  Your  pa  was  like  her  in 
dat.  An'  she  had  a  noble  'pearance.  Marster  was  like 
her  in  dat.  He  move  to  what  dey  call  de  Shipyard 
from  Bellevue.  We  didn't  live  dyar  no  time,  'cordin' 
to  my  understandin'.  Dat's  what  de  ole  people  tell 
me.  I  don't  'member  'nuthin'  'bout  it.  Dat  was  'fore 
we  move  to  Elmin'ton. 

"  I  had  a  weddin' — a  big  weddin' — for  Marlow's 
kitchen.  Tour  pa  gib  me  a  head  weddin, — kilt  a 
mutton — a  round  o'  beef — tukkeys — cakes,  one  on 
t'other — trifle.  I  had  all  de  chany  off  de  sideboard, 
cups  an'  saucers,  de  table,  de  white  table-cloth.  I  had 
on  your  pa's  wife's  weddin'  gloves  and  slippers  an'  veil. 
De  slippers  was  too  small,  but  I  put  my  toes  in.  Miss 
Mary  had  a  mighty  neat  foot.  Marster  brought  out  a 
milk-pail  o'  toddy  an'  more  in  bottles.  De  gentlemans 
an'  marster  stand  up  on  de  tables.  He  didn't  rush 
'mongst  de  black  folks,  you  know.  I  had  a  tearin'- 
down  weddin',  to  be  sho'.  Nobody  else  didn't  hab  sich 
a  weddin'.  Yes,  Sis  Abby  hab  a  might}7  nice  weddin', 
too, — cakes  an'  things, — a  handed  roun'  supper,  you 
see.  Marster  promised  de  first  one  what  git  married 
arter  he  did  a  tearin'-down  weddin',  an'  I  was  de  fust. 
De  whole  day  'fore  I  was  to  be  married  Miss  Mary — 
dat  was  your  pa  fust  wife — kep'  me  shut  up  in  a  room. 
'A  bride  must  not  be  seen,'  she  said.  An'  she  wouldn't 
lenime  come  out  to  dinner,  but  she  sent  my  dinner  in 


56        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

to  me  on  a  plate.  De  nex'  mornin'  I  went  to  raarster's 
an'  Miss  Mary's  room  'fore  dey  was  up.  'Who  is  that?' 
she  say.  I  say,  'Harriet.'  ' Good-morning,  Mrs.  Bride. 
I  wish  you  joy,  and  every  year  a  son  or  a  daughter.' 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'se  been  see  good  times ! 

"In  dem  days  I  always  dress  my  hyar  very  fine  an' 
wear  a  high  top  comb  in  it. 

"  I  don't  nebber  'spect  to  see  no  sich  times  again. 

"  Miss  Mary  was  a  lady  to  de  tips  o'  her  toes.  She 
hab  de  most  beautifullest  walk  dat  eber  I  see.  I  used 
to  love  to  see  her  walk  off.  I  neber  see  nobody  walk 
like  her. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  how  good  marster  was  to  his  peo- 
ple in  Figinny.  De  people  would  ketch  a  few  oysters 
ebery  day,  an'  by  Sadday  dey  would  hab  a  heap  o' 
oysters  piled  up  on  de  bank.  Den  dey  would  go  to 
marster  an'  say, '  Marster,  I'se  got  a  heap  o'  oysters  dat 
I  would  like  to  sell.'  'Yery  well,'  he  would  say;  'go 
along  and  take  the  cart  and  mule  and  take  your  oystei\s 
around  and  sell  them.'  In  de  harves'-time  he  had  two 
waitmans  to  wait  on  de  people  who  was  cuttin'  de 
wheat  and  de  barley.  An'  dese  two  waitmans  dey  had 
two  gre't  harmper-baskets  full  o'  bottles  o'  whiskey, — a 
pint  for  ebery  man  an'  half  a  pint  for  ebery  'oman. 
An'  dey  used  to  larf  an'  say  to  de  young  gals,  'You 
young  gals  ought  not  to  drink  whiskey  so;  you  ought 
to  put  water  in  it.'  But  de  young  gals  always  tik  de 
whiskey. 

"  Me  an'  Sis  Patsy  was  de  milkers,  and  Miss  Mary 
used  to  say,  'You  young  girls*  must  not  drink  whiskey 
in  that  way.'  So  she  always  put  mine  an'  Sis  Patsy's 
in  a  pail,  an'  put  water  an'  sugar  in  it,  an'  gib  it  to  us 
so.  You  see.we  w_as  house-servants.  She  was  a  good 
lady,  mightygood~7— sich  a  good  missis. 

"  When  de  harves'  was  gathered,  de  dinner  for  de 
black  people  was  cooked  in  de  kitchen, — same  as  for  de 
gre't  folks, — all  sorts  o'  nice  things.  She  would  go  out 
den  an'  cut  off  de  house-servants'  dinners.     Bf  there 


*  In  quoting  her  master  and  mistress,  Mammy  generally  used  correct 
language. 


MAMMY  HARRIETS  RECOLLECTIONS.  57 

was  a  piece  o'  sp'iled  meat  she  would  say,  £  Throw  that 
out  to  the  dogs.  That  is  not  fit  for  people  to  eat.'  She 
had  a  big  chany  howl,  an'  if  a  roach  fell  in  it,  she  had 
ebery  drop  o'  de  molasses  throwed  out.  She  say,  '  That 
is  not  fit  for  the  servants  to  eat.  They  shall  not  eat  it.' 
She  nebber  let  her  people  eat  what  she  would  not  eat. 

"  Dey  had  big  doin's,  I  know,  when  your  ma  was  mar- 
ried, 'cause  Mrs.  Hill  was  a  stawmped  down  fine  lady, 
— a  lady  from  de  crown  o'  her  head  to  de  bottom  o'  her 
foot. 

"  In  your  pa  house  de  servants  eat  dinner  after  de 
marster  an'  de  missus  eat, — de  same  things  as  dey  eat. 
Uncle  George  sot  de  table  for  de  servants  to  eat.  Dyar 
was  plenty  on  'em.  Dey  come  wid  dey  marsters  an' 
missises.  Mr.  Root  come  in  carriage  an'  four  an'  three 
servants.  He  nebber  trabble  wid  less.  De  maid  sot  by 
he  side  in  de  big  carriage,  an'  de  man  ride,  postillion, 
an'  de  biggest  gre't  dinners,  gent'mans!  G-eorge  Orris 
was  de  cook  for  dese  big  dinners.  He  tik  apples  or 
oranges  either  an'  he  cut  handles  an'  figgers  an'  pre- 
serve 'em.  He  feed  de  tuttles  out  in  de  ribber  whar  he 
tie  'em.  He  mik  four  dishes  out  o'  one  tuttle, — force- 
meat balls  an'  things.  Mammy  can't  'member  all  de 
names  o'  de  dishes.  De  day  dat  tuttle  was  cooked  de 
people  come  fo'  what  was  out !  He  mik  a  fine  dish  out 
o'  chicken-foots  an'  heads, — fricassee  'em. 

"  When  we  fust  come  out  to  dis  country,  Mississippi, 
marster  made  de  ploughers  tik  out  de  muels  at  eleven 
o'clock.  An'  he  didn't  'low  'em  to  put  'em  back  'fore 
three  o'clock,  an'  nobody  worked  in  dem  hours.  I 
s'pose  dat  was  to  get  us  used  to  de  new  country.  Oh, 
no,  we  was  nebber  hurried.  Marster  nebber  once  said, 
'  Get  up  an'  go  to  work,'  an'  no  oberseer  ebber  said  it, 
neither.  Ef  some  on  'em  did  not  git  up  when  de  odders 
went  out  to  work,  marster  nebber  said  a  word.  Oh,  no, 
we  was  nebber  hurried. 

"  In  later  times  our  ploughers  and  de  odders  worked 
till  twelve  o'clock,  an'  den  dey  tik  out  de  muels  an' 
eberybody  sot  down  to  eat  an'  res'  till  thi-ee  o'clock. 
Sometimes  when  we  was  all  settin'  roan'  one  would 
say  to  de  odder,  '  Come,  le's  we  git  up  an'  go  to  work. 


58        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

We  hab  been  settin'  here  long  'nuff.'  But  marster 
nebber  said  sich  a  thing.  In  dem  days  some  o'  de 
people  used  to  obersleep  deyselves.  We  used  to  larf 
so  much  at  'em ;  'speshully  at  Sarah,  my  brer  Billy's 
daughter.  Marster  would  nebber  hab  no  horn  to  wake 
us  up.  When  one  oberseer  come  dyar  wid  he  horn, 
marster  soon  put  a  stop  to  dat.  He  said,  '  I  do  not  keep 
hounds  to  be  called  up  with  horns.'  Sarah  was  a  gre't 
hand  to  obersleep  herself,  an'  marster  didn't  nebber  let 
nobody  call  her,  nor  any  o'  de  odders  what  obersleep 
dyselfs.  He  say,  'Don't  trouble  them.  They  cannot 
help  that.'  An'  to  dem  he  would  say,  '  Ef  you  don't 
wake  up  till  twelve  o'clock,  get  up  and  come  out  to 
work  then.  .  Don't  stay  at  home  and  say  that  you  ai*e 
sick,  because  I  don't  blame  you.'  Sometimes  I  would 
not  get  through  givin'  out  de  buttermilk  to  all  de  little 
black  chillun,  an'  dat  was  'bout  eleven  o'clock  or  twelve 
o'clock,  an'  I  would  see  marster  an'  Sarah  goin'  out  to 
de  fieF  together.  An'  we  would  all  larf  at  Sarah,  and 
she  would  say,  '  What  you  all  larffin'  'bout  ?  G-o  'long. 
You  do  like  you  ain't  got  no  sense.  You  fools,  go  'long.' 
Sometimes  we  larf  'bout  dat  to  dis  day  wid  Sarah,  an' 
we  set  an'  talk  'bout  it.  You  ken  ask  her,  an'  she  will 
tell  you  jes'  what  I  tell  you  'bout  it. 

"  Yes,  honey,  dat  he  did  gib  us  Fourth  o'  July, — a 
plenty  o'  holiday, — a  beef  kilt,  a  mutton,  hogs,  salt  and 
pepper,  an'  ebery thing.  He  hab  a  gre't  trench  dug, 
an'  a  whole  load  o'  wood  put  in  it,  an'  burned  down 
to  coals.  Den  dey  put  wooden  spits  across,  an'  dey 
had  spoons  an'  basted  de  meat,  an'  he  did  not  miss 
givin'  us  whiskey  to  drink, — a  plenty  of  it,  too.  An'  we 
'vite  all  de  culled  people  aroun',  an'  dey  come,  an'  wo 
had  fine  times.  Our  people  was  so  good,  and  dey  had 
so  much.  Dyar  warn't  no  sich  people  no  whyar.  Mars- 
ter mus'n't  be  named  de  same  day  as  udder  people. 
Our  people  want  to  help  de  poor  critters  what  didn't 
hab  nuthin';  dey  saved  it  up  for  dem.  Marster  'lowed 
us  to  hab  meetin',  just  as  much  meetin'  as  we  choose. 
A  heap  o'  people  didn't  let  dey  people  hab  meetin' ; 
didn't  like  for  dem  to  visit  an'  see  udder  people.  Mars- 
ter warn't  dat  way.     We  went  'bout. 


MAMMY  HARRIETS  RECOLLECTIONS.  59 

"  'Fore  we  got  'quainted  at  de  Pass,*  marster  used  to 
tell  brer  Harrison  to  tik  de  carriage-horses  an'  put  'em 
to  de  wagon  Sunday  evenin's,  an'  drive  we  all  out  down 
de  sti*eet,  down  town.  Oh,  we  was  big  bugs  in  dem 
days,  an'  we  sot  up  dyar  in  de  wagon  ;  who  but  we  ? 
An'  we  did  hab  nice  times.  And  you  chillun  would 
say,  '  I  want  to  go  with  mammy,  I  want  to  go  with 
mammy,'  an'  we  would  tik  you  little  ones  an'  dress 
you  up  an'  tik  you  'long,  too.  An'  afterwards,  when 
we  got  'quainted,  de  culled  gent'mans  would  'vite  we 
all  to  de  ice-cream  an'  things.  An'  marster  made  brer 
Harrison  carry  us  dyar  in  de  wagon.  'Twas  'bout  a 
mile.  An'  we  had  cake,— currant  cake,  plain  cake,  dis 
here  iced  cake, — all  kind  o'  nice  things.  .An'  how  we 
did  'joy  ourselves !  An'  do  you  'member  de  green 
oranges,  jes'  turnin',  dat  Mrs.  Henderson  let  her  people 
gib  to  us  ?  Law,  I  did  drink  so  much  o'  dat  orangeade. 
Mrs.  Henderson  was  so  good  to  her  people.  An'  we 
used  to  go  down  dyar  to  de  Pint,  all  dressed  up  an'  set 
back  on  dem  pleasurin'  benches.  Mrs.  Henderson  had 
a  big  watermillion  patch  ebery  year,  an'  she  let  her 
people  hab  all  dey  want.  An'  dey  cut  a  heap  ov  'em 
for  we  all,  an'  we  sot  back  on  dem  benches  an'  we  eat 
jes'  as  long  as  we  could.     Oh,  I'se  been  see  good  times! 

"An'  de  fish.  Don't  you  'member  all  de  fish  dat 
marster  gib  us?  On  de  first  day  always  when  we  got 
to  de  Pass,  marster  stop  at  de  fish-house,  when  we  was 
passin'  thro'  de  town,  an'  buy  a  gre't  long  string  o'  gre't 
big  fish, — all  sorts,  croakers  an'  mullets  an'  all  sorts, — 
so  he  hab  to  gib  to  'em  all.  He  say,  '  Here,  take  these 
home  an'  cook  them  for  your  dinners,  but  don't  make 
37ourselves  sick.'  An'  we  did  eat  fish  three  times  a 
day,  an'  sometimes  four  times.  Your  pa  alwavs  buys 
de  best  ob  ebervthing  for  us.  Ebery  mornin'  he  go 
out  fishin'  at  de  Pass  in  he  canoe,  an'  he  ketch  'bout 
half  a  bushel  o'  fish.  Marster  used  to  buy  fine  sweet 
potatoes  for  all  his  people  in  trabellin'  to  de  Pass,  an' 
at  night  he  put  he  head  out  o'  de  tent  an'  say,  '  Bev- 
erly, don't  make  yourself  sick  on  potatoes,  so  that  you 

*  Pass  Christian,  on  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 


60        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

will  not  be  able  to  travel  in  the  morning.'  An'  Bebly 
say,  '  Yes,  sir.'  An'  all  dat  time  he  had  a  spiderful  o' 
potatoes  settin'  by  him,  an'  jes'  as  soon  as  he  got  thro' 
wid  one  spiderful  he  put  anudder  in  de  fire. 

This  Beverly,  who  was  one  of  the  wagon-drivers,  was 
a  great  favorite  with  my  father.  I  have  heard  him 
say,  as  Beverly's  merry  laughter  sounded  over  field  and 
wood, — for  I  never  heard  any  laugh  quite  so  careless 
or  so  astoundingly  loud  as  this  gay  fellow's, — "  Well,  I 
do  enjoy  hearing  that."  The  trip  to  the  Pass  was  a 
gala  time  to  Beverly,  as  to  all  the  other  servants  who 
were  taken,  about  nine  or  ten.  The  white  family  still 
recall  with  amusement  the  contest  as  to  who  could  eat 
the  greater  number  of  fish  on  the  day  of  the  arrival  at 
the  Pass.  Mammy  Maria,  one  of  our  dear  nurses,  of 
whom  much  is  said  in  these  memorials,  and  her  brother 
Beverly  usually  carried  off  the  palm,  he  having  been 
known  to  eat  at  the  first  meal  fourteen  silver  trout  and 
she  thirteen. 

"  Oh,  de  Sundays,  when  all  de  people  dress  up  in  dey 
finery,  an'  come  thro'  de  gate,  an'  walk  thro'  de  yard, 
an'  pass  by  de  porch  whyar  all  de  family  was  settin' ! 
How  dey  switch  by !  Don't  you  'member  Phoebe  ? 
She  twis',  she  twis',  an'  she  twis'.  You  see  brer  Aaron 
come  down  from  Raymond  ebery  Sadday,  an'  de  nex' 
mornin'  he  say,  '  Gals,  lemme  show  you  de  steps  de 
town  ladies  tik.'  Den  he  put  he  hand  'hin'  he  back, 
an'  he  twis'  heself,  and  we  larf  'twell  we  cry.  Dyar's 
whar  Phoebe  ketch  de  step.  Brer  Aaron  was  mighty 
funny. 

"  We  buy  things  at  Christmas  ef  we  choose,  but  ef 
we  didn't  choose  to  do  dat,  we  had  things.  We  was 
given  flour  an'  sugar  an'  coffee  an'  butter  an'  whiskey 
an'  things.  De  sick  people  call  for  anything  dey  want, 
any  time,  an'  missis  sont  it  to  de  quarters. 

"Joe  Nelson  was  at  de  Pass,  wukkin'  on  de  house 
down  dyar,  an'  my  aunt,  Grannie  Harriet,  ask  marster 
to  send  for  him,  'cause  she  want  to  see  him.  She 
'peared  to  know  dat  she  was  gwyne  to  die.*     Max-ster 

*  Joe  was  her  adopted  son.     The  Pass  was  two  hundred  miles  from 
Burleigh. 


MAMMY  HARRIETS  RECOLLECTIONS.  61 

send  for  him  right  off,  an'  he  hadn't  been  at  home 
more  dan  three  days  'fore  grannie  was  struck  wid 
paralysis.  I  was  settin'  wid  her,  and  she  was  on  de 
bed,  an'  she  look  mighty  strange  all  on  a  sudden.  I 
thought  she  was  djin'.  I  run  to  de  house  to  missis. 
Mai'ster  was  out  in  de  fiel'.  I  tell  missis  dat  I  thought 
Grannie  Harriet  was  dyin'.  Missis  put  on  her  bonnet 
an'  went  to  her  jes'  as  fast  as  she  could.  "When  grannie 
see  her  she  could  not  speak,  but  she  hold  out  both  arms 
to  her.  Missis  run  into  her  arms  an'  bust  out  cryin'. 
She  put  her  arms  roun'  grannie's  neck,  an'  grannie 
could  not  speak,  but  de  big  tears  roll  down  her  cheeks. 
An'  so  she  die. 

"  I  often  begged  marster  to  let  a  funeral  sermon  be 
pi'eached  over  grannie,  but  he  always  say, '  No,  Harriet, 
I  do  not  know  anybody  good  enough  to  preach  a  sermon 
over  her.'  " 

I  remember  well  the  death  of  this  aged  servant. 
The  master  himself  led  the  funeral  procession,  and  all 
his  children  followed  the  coffin  as  mourners.  He  or- 
dered out  the  whole  plantation,  every  one  who  could 
walk,  and  every  man,  woman,  and  child  carried  a 
torch.  The  sound  of  the  mournful  funeral  hymn,  and 
the  blazing  of  the  many  torches,  as  we  wound  down 
the  road  to  the  dark  shades  of  the  burying-ground, 
made  a  painful  impression  on  me  as  a  child,  and  caused 
many  a  secret  tear.  I  wished  much  to  be  excused 
from  going  to  the  funeral ;  but  the  master  seemed  un- 
approachable in  his  grief,  and  I  was  afraid  of  in- 
curring his  displeasure  if  he  should  discover  that  I  was 
unwilling  to  pay  what  he  considered  fitting  respect  to 
the  memory  of  this  trusted  friend. 

His  mother  had  given  her  to  him  with  the  words, 
"  You  can  trust  her  in  everything.  She  has  never  told 
me  an  untruth  or  even  prevaricated  in  her  life." 

It  is  recorded  of  Grannie  Harriet  that  when  the 
wagons  drew  up  at  the  new  home  place  on  the  Bur- 
leigh plantation,  and  she  looked  around  at  the  rude  ac- 
commodations, she  asked,  "And  is  dis  what  my  marster 
left  Gloucester  for  ?" 

The  master  ever  treated  her  as  a  member  of  the 


62        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

family.  His  daily  habit  on  his  return  from  the  fields 
at  mid-day  was  to  dismount  at  her  gate  and  to  sit 
laughing  and  talking  with  her  for  a  half-hour.  He 
consulted  her  about  his  plantation  affairs  as  he  did  no 
one  else,  and  her  judgment  was  so  sound  that  he  relied 
on  it.  He  missed  her  much  after  her  death.  No  one 
ever  filled  her  place  with  him  either  as  adviser  or 
friend.  Oar  childish  associations  with  Grannie  Harriet 
were  delightful.  She  petted  and  spoiled  us  to  our 
hearts'  content,  and  could  not  bear  to  have  any  fault 
found  with  us. 

Especially  at  Christmas  did  we  delight  in  going  to 
her  to  beg  for  cake  and  other  dainties.  Mamma  took 
care  that  she  should  have  a  good  store  on  hand ;  and 
we,  who  knew  nothing  of  this,  praised  grannie's 
things,  and  found  them  ever  so  much  nicer  than  any- 
thing to  be  gotten  at  the  "  great  house." 

Sometimes  we  were  allowed,  as  a  very  great  treat,  to 
wrap  up  in  sheets  and  go  to  grannie's  house  to  frighten 
her.  Her  feigned  terror  at  the  sight  of  the  band  of 
little  ghosts  filled  us  with  rapture,  only  equalled  by 
that  we  felt  when,  on  suddenly  dropping  the  sheets,  we 
heard  grannie's  exclamation  of  astonishment  that  the 
master's  children  were  playing  such  pranks  on  her. 

She  lived  alone.  We  were  not  allowed  to  visit  any 
of  the  other  servants  with  such  freedom.  Her  master 
said  that  he  would  be  proud  to  hang  her  portrait  in  his 
drawing-room,  in  such  esteem  and  affection  did  he  hold 
her. 

Owing  to  the  delay  with  the  sick  horse,  which  was 
at  the  time  looked  on  as  an  unmixed  evil,  the  travellers 
did  not  reach  the  Mississippi  plantation  till  two  weeks 
later  than  had  been  calculated  on.  When  they  got 
there  they  found  that  the  log  houses  in  which  they  had 
expected  to  find  shelter  till  better  could  be  provided  had 
been  completely  demolished  by  a  cyclone.  They  were 
but  a  heap  of  timbers  lying  on  the  ground.  Had  they 
reached  this  place  at  the  time  set  for  their  arrival  they 
would  have  been  in  these  houses,  and  could  scarcely 
have  escaped  with  their  lives,  for  the  cyclone  had 
passed  over  in  the  night. 


MAMMY  HARRIETS  RECOLLECTIONS.  63 

Thomas  looked  at  the  wreck  and  remembered 
his  annoyance  at  the  delay  to  which,  under  Provi- 
dence, he  owed  their  safety.  The  scene  made  an  im- 
pression that  was  life-long.  It  influenced  his  character. 
It  gave  him  a  belief  in  a  special  Providence  that  was 
ever  afterwards  unshaken.  His  trust  in  the  wisdom 
and  goodness  of  God  was  from  that  hour  so  strong 
that  he  never  for  a  moment  doubted  it.  Under  no  cir- 
cumstances was  a  murmur  or  anything  approaching  to 
it  ever  heard  to  escape  his  lips.  Not  even  by  a  wish 
would  he  imply  that  he  could  desire  the  decrees  of 
Providence  altered. 

One  of  the  farmers  whose  lands  he  had  bought,  and 
who  had  not  yet  moved  out  of  his  house,  was  able  to 
spare  a  few  rooms  for  the  white  families,  and  the  mar- 
quees were  pitched  for  the  negroes.  All  hands  wore 
set  to  work  to  build  houses. 

In  selecting  his  plantation,  Thomas  showed  his  usual 
sound  judgment  in  practical  matters.  It  comprised 
four  thousand  acres  in  a  compact  body,  not  all  bought 
at  one~time,  but  as  he  saw  opportunity  to  secure  the 
property  of  small  farmers  whose  land  adjoined  his. 
In  this  way  he  shaped  his  place  to  suit  himself;  and  it 
was  characteristic  of  his  exact  methods  that  after 
making  his  final  purchase  the  section  lines  fell  so  as  to 
form  an  almost  exact  squai'e,  with  Tallahala  Creek 
crossing  it  diagonally  from  northeast  to  southwest. 
The  lowland  bordering  the  creek,  called  "The  Bottom," 
was  inexhaustibly  fertile,  and  ensured  heavy  crops  in 
the  dryest  season.  Prom  the  creek-bottom  the  land 
gradually  rises  and  runs  back  in  a  series  of  hills  and 
plateaus.  Those  not  already  cleared  for  cultivation 
were  covered  with  a  magnificent  growth  of  timber, — 
oaks  of  many  species,  yellow  pine,  hickory,  elm,  sweet- 
and  black-gum,  besides  countless  other  trees  and  shrubs 
of  less  value.  Walnut-trees  of  magnificent  size,  mag- 
nolia, beech,  and  laurel  grew  on  the  banks  of  the  creek. 

Crops  raised  on  the  hills  flourished  best  in  wet 
weather ;  so  with  the  admirable  diversity  of  soil  on  the 
plantation  there  was  never  a  failure  of  a  whole  crop  in 
the  most  unfavorable  season. 


64        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

The  land  was  well  watei-ed  throughout  by  Tallahala 
Creek,  with  its  tributary  branches,  Indian  jumper  and 
Snake  Creek,  and  a  number  of  smaller  bayous.  M  In 
the  hills  springs  bubbled  out,  giving  rise  to  spring 
"branches,"  which  did  not  go  dry  in  the  most  pro- 
longed drought.  There  was  always  pasturage  for 
cattle  along  these  water-courses,  and  in  the  bitterest 
cold  of  winter  they  found  abundant  green  food  in  the 
canebi^akes  of  the  creek.  In  this  mild  climate  many 
wild  flowers  adorn  the  fields  and  woods  till  late  in  the 
fall.  Tiny  blue  innocents  dot  the  grass  as  early  as 
January.  Later  come  wild  violets,  roses,  the  wild  lily, 
rhododendron,  clematis,  woodbine,  snap-dragon,  and  a 
host  of  flowering  trees,  shrubs,  and  vines.  Among  these 
we  find  the  red-bud,  maple,  dogwood,  crab-apple,  haw- 
thorn, and  wild  peach ;  but  supreme  in  beauty  and  in 
fragrance  we  have  the  yellow  jasmine.  It  is  the  crown 
and  glory  of  Southern  woods,  throwing  its  drapery  of 
golden  bells  over  trees  and  shrubs  for  whole  acres. 

It  was  Thomas's  plan  in  the  management  of  this 
large  estate  to  bring  under  cultivation  a  certain  portion 
of  new  land  every  }?ear.  His  rule  was  to  clear  one  hun- 
dred acres  each  season.  The  cotton-plant  delights  in 
a  virgin  soil,  and  he  counted  on  making  a  bale  and  a 
half  of  cotton  to  the  acre  on  all  new  ground.  This 
was,  of  course,  above  the  average.  In  the  hill  country 
a  planter  thinks  himself  rewarded  for  his  labor  by  an 
ayerage  yield  of  half  a  bale  to  the  acre.  Thomas  one 
year  made  six  hundred  bales  on  six  hundred  acres,  but 
that  was  an  exceptional  season.  The  fact  that  this 
place  would  be  as  productive  now  as  ever  with  the  same 
cultivation  goes  to  show  how  well  the  land  lies,  and 
how  wise  Thomas  was  in  the  choice  of  his  plantation. 


EARLY  DATS  IN  MISSISSIPPI.  65 

CHAPTER  Y. 

EARLY   DATS    IN    MISSISSIPPI. 

In  entering  on  this  pioneer  life  nffifljg  jjjfficaliagg  had 

to  be  met  that  were  a  new  experience  to  people  coming 
from  lower  Yirginia.  One  of  the  first  was  the  una- 
voidable delay  in  ffettina;  supplies  of  meat  for  the  ser- 

—  ■       '  ,         ,.  '       7  ii -*- 

yants._   .bor  two  weeks  alter  their  arrivar  they  na<T 

none.  Sophia's  sister  Emmeline,  Mrs.  Lewis  Smith, 
was  so  conscientious  that  she  refused  during  this  period 
to  touch  a  morsel  of  meat,  although  the  supply  on  hand 
was  ample  to  last  the  white  families  till  more  could  be 
procured. 

The  roof  of  the  house  in  which  Thomas  had  to  put 
his  wife  and  children  was  so  leaky,  that  he  had  some- 
times at  night  when  it  rained  to  sit  up  in  bed  and  hold 
an  umbrella  over  her  and  the  baby. 

There  were  then  no  railroads,  and  the  cotton  crop 
had  to  be  hauled  in  wagons  forty  miles,  to  Grand  Gulf. 
The  roads  were  so  bad  that  to  trust  the  teams  to  negro- 
drivers  alone  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  and  the  master 
went  with  every  wagon. 

Not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Thomas's 
home,  in  those  early  days  in  Mississippi,  lived  a  man 
named  Jack  Cotton.  He  was  one  of  a  band  of  high- 
waymen who  infested  the  road  from  Yieksburg  to 
Memphis.  Their  practice  was  to  waylay  planters  and 
rob  them  on  their  return  from  selling  their  cotton. 
Jack  Cotton's  house  was  a  half-way  station  and  a  ren- 
dezvous for  the  band.  Jack  was  civil  to  the  new 
neighbors,  and  they  were  ignorant  of  his  reputation 
as  a  desperado  till  he  ran  away  to  Texas  to  escape  the 
law. 

There  was  no  doctor  or  church  nearer  than  Raymond, 

which  was  ten  miles  fromTEnrlftitrh.    The  country  people 

around  the  plantation,  seeing  tbaT*Thomas  knew  how 

to  take  care  of  his  servants,  began  to  send  for  him 

e  6* 


66        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

when  they  were  sick.  He  was  so  successful  that  his 
reputation  grew  more  than  was  convenient.  They  had 
a  way  of  sending  for  him  at  night  that  was  specially 
disagreeable,  and  he  had  finally  to  refuse  to  make  night 
calls.  One  day  he  was  summoned  to  attend  a  woman 
who  was  about  to  die,  the  messenger  said.  When 
Thomas  reached  the  house,  he  saw  tied  to  the  fence  and 
to  trees  horses  with  men's  saddles  and  horses  with  side- 
saddles, and  on  the  little  porch  were  men,  women,  and 
children,  evidently  a  gathering  of  the  sick  woman's 
clan.  One  woman,  sitting  in  the  sick-chamber,  was 
rocking  her  baby  crosswise  on  the  plank  floor.  .  Alto- 
gether the  hubbub  was  something  distracting.  The 
patient  herself  was  in  a  highly  nervous  state.  The 
husband  explained  that  she  had  not  been  able  to  sleep 
for  one  or  two  days  and  nights.  Thomas's  advice  was 
that  every  man,  woman,  and  child  should  be  sent  away. 
It  was  acted  on  at  once.  "  Folks,  the  doctor  says  you 
must  all  go  home,"  the  man  called  out  from  the  door. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  unhitching  their  horses 
and  getting  away  as  fast  as  they  could.  As  soon  as  all 
was  quiet,  a  soothing  potion  was  given  to  the  sufferer. 
The  next  morning  the  news  came  to  "  the  doctor"  that 
she  had  slept  all  night  and  was  a  great  deal  better,  and 
not  at  all  in  danger  of  dying. 

A  disease  called  black  tongue  appeared  among  the 
negroes  at  Burleigh  at  one  time;  very  soon  forty  of 
them  had  their  tongues  protruding  from  their  mouths, 
swollen  and  cracked  open.  The  doctors  were  losing  so 
many  cases,  for  the  disease  was  epidemic  in  the  coun- 
try, that  Thomas  resolved  not  to  send  for  a  physician. 
He  made  a  careful  study  of  the  symptoms,  and  observed 
that  the  vital  powers  were  strongly  taxed  and  the  sys- 
tem run  down  very  low.  Not  knowing  what  medicine 
would  check  the  disease,  he  resolved  to  give  none,  but 
to  build  up  the  system  with  stimulants  and  nourishing- 
food,  leaving  to  the  recuperative  power  of  nature  to 
pull  his  patients  through.  A  liberal  use  of  port  wine 
and  mutton-chops  (such  chops!  I  never  saw  their  like 
elsewhere)  justified  his  hopes  and  expectations.  He 
did  not  lose  a  case. 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  MISSISSIPPI.  67 

Thomas  was  misunderstood  and  misjudged  by  the 
people  in  Mississippi  by  whom  he  found  himself  sur- 
rounded. The_plainer  classes  in  Virginia,  like  those  in 
Ihi  gland,  from  whom  they  w'ere  descended,  recognized 
the  difference  betNVeeiT^tteTiiselves  j}nd  the  .higher 
classes7*an^~QrT(r"not  aspire  to  s^iaTequaiity.  But  in 
Mississippi  the  tone  was"  different.  They  resented  any- 
thing like  superiority  in  brelxTiiTg.  "  " 
^Thomas  Dabney  was  considered  cold  and  haughty. 
It  took"  them  long  years  to  flnTT"outt^aTTie"was  a  true 
friend  to  the  poor.  As  years  passed  on  they  learned  to 
look  on  him  as  one  to  be  relied  on,  not  only  for  sub- 
stantial help  but  for  sympathy.  Under  the  look  of 
stern  dignity  the  heart  was  tender  and  compassionate 
as  a  woman's. 

It  was  the  custom  among  the  small  farmers  in  his 
neighborhood  to  call  on  each  other  to  assist  when  one 
of  them  built  his  house,  usually  a  log  structure.  Ac- 
cordingly, one  day  an  invitation  came  to  the  new-comer 
to  help  a  neighbor  to  "  raise"  his  house.  At  the  ap- 
pointed time  he  went  over  with  twenty  of  his  men, 
and  he  did  not  leave  till  the  last  log  was  in  place  and 
the  last  board  nailed  on  the  roof,  handing  over  the  sim- 
ple cabin  quite  completed  to  the  owner.  This  action, 
which  seemed  so  natural  to  him,  was  a  serious  offence 
to  the  recipient,  and,  to  his  regret,  he  was  sent  for  to 
no  more  "  house-raisings."  On  another  occasion,  a 
small  farmer  living  a  few  miles  from  him  got  "  in  the 
gi'ass,"  as  the  country  people  express  it  when  the  grass 
has  gotten  ahead  of  the  young  cotton-plants  and  there 
is  danger  of  their  being  choked  by  it.  Again  Thomas 
went  over  with  twenty  men,  and  in  a  few  hours  the 
field  was  brought  to  perfect  order.  The  man  said  that 
if  Colonel  Dabney  had  taken  hold  of  a  plough  and 
worked  by  his  side  he  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
his  help,  but  to  see  him  sitting  up  on  his  horse  with 
his  gloves  on  directing  his  negroes  how  to  work  was 
not  to  his  taste.  He  heard  a  long  time  after  these  oc- 
currences that  he  could  have  soothed  their  wounded 
pride  if  he  had  asked  them  to  come  over  to  help  him 
to  raise  his  cabins.     But  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 


68        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

call  on  two  or  three  poor  white  men  to  work  among 
his  servants  when  he  had  no  need  of  help. 

Another  neighbor  he  found  more  grateful.  This  man 
was  very  sick  during  the  season  when  his  field  should 
have  been  ploughed.  His  wife  and  only  servant  were 
quite  taken  up  with  nursing  him.  One  day  they  heard 
the  voices  of  workers  in  their  field,  and,  on  looking  out, 
recognized  Colonel  Dabney  and  his  servants.  He  had 
heard  of  the  trouble,  and  had  ordered  his  men  to  go  to 
this  place  with  their  mules  and  ploughs,  and  to  put 
everything  in  order  for  the  crop,  not  failing  to  take 
their  dinners  along.  The  man  got  well,  and  he  and  his 
wife  and  children  were  life-long  friends  to  the  family  at 
Burleigh. 

A  young  doctor  moving  to  the  neighborhood  said  in 
his  hearing  that  he  found  it  difficult  to  buy  corn. 
Thomas  made  no  comment,  but  the  next  moi-ning  the 
doctor  saw  a  six-mule  wagon  at  his  gate..  The  driver, 
whom  he  recognized  as  a  Burleigh  negro,  asked  where 
the  corn  should  be  stowed  away.  He  showed  him  his 
corn-crib,  and  a  day  or  two  after,  meeting  Thomas, 
asked  what  he  owed  for  the  corn.  "  Oh,  nothing,"  was 
the  answer ;  "I  do  not  charge  a  neighbor  for  a  wagon- 
load  of  corn."  This  incident  is  hardly  worth  mention- 
ing were  it  not  that  little  things  make  up  a  man's  life 
and  show  the  spirit. 

His  plantation  was  considered  a  model  one,  and  was 
visited  by  planters  anxious  to  learn  his  methods.  He 
was  asked  how  he  made  his  negroes  do  good  work. 
His  answer  was  that  a  laboring  man  could  do  more 
work  and  better  work  in  five  and  a  half  days  than  in 
six.  He  used  to  give  the  half  of  Saturdays  to  his 
negroes,  unless  there  was  a  great  press  of  work ;  but  a 
system  of  rewards  was  more  efficacious  than  any  other 
method.  He  distributed  prizes  of  money  among  his 
cotton-pickers  every  week  during  the  season,  which 
lasted  four  or  five  months.  One  dollar  was  the  first 
prize,  a  Mexican  coin  valued  at  eighty-seven  and  a  half 
cents  the  second,  seventy-five  cents  the  third,  and  so  on, 
down  to  the  smallest  prize,  a  small  Mexican  coin  called 
picayune,  which  was  valued  at  six  and  a  half  cents. 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  MISSISSIPPI.  69 

Tbe  decimal  nomenclature  was  not  in  use  there.  The 
coins  were  spoken  of  as  "  bits."  Eighty-seven  and  a 
half  cents  were  seven  bits,  fifty  cents  four  bits,  twenty- 
five  cents  two  bits.  The  master  gave  money  to  all  who 
worked  well  for  the  prizes,  whether  they  won  them  or 
not.  When  one  person  picked  six  hundred  pounds  in 
a  day,  a  five-dollar  gold-piece  was  the  reward.  On  most 
other  plantations  four  hundred  pounds  or  three  hundred 
and  fifty  or  three  hundred  was  considered  a  good  day's 
work,  but  on  the  Burleigh  place  many  picked  five 
hundred  pounds.  All  had  to  be  picked  free  of  trash. 
No  one  could  do  this  who  had  not  been  trained  in 
cbildhood.  To  get  five  hundred  pounds  a  picker  bad 
to  use  both  hands  at  once.  Those  wbo  went  into  the 
cotton-fields  alter  they  were  grown  only  knew  bow  to 
pull  out  cotton  by  holding  on  to  the  stalk  with  one 
hand  and  picking  it  out  with  the  other.  Two  hundred 
pounds  a  day  would  be  a  liberal  estimate  of  what  the 
most  industrious  could  do  in  this  manner.  A  very  tall 
and  lithe  young  woman,  one  of  mammy's  "  brer  Billy's" 
children,  was  the  best  cotton-picker  at  Burleigh.  She 
picked  two  rows  at  a  time,  going  down  the  middle  with 
both  arms  extended  and  grasping  the  cotton-bolls  with 
each  hand.  Some  .of  the  younger  generation  learned 
to  imitate  this.  At  Christmas  Kelly's  share  of  the 
prize-money  was  something  over  seventeen  dollars. 
Her  pride  in  going  up  to  the  master's  desk  to  receive 
it,  in  the  presence  of  the  assembled  negroes,  as  the  ac- 
knowledged leader  of  the  cotton-pickers,  was  a  matter 
of  as  great  interest  to  the  white  family  as  to  her  own 
race. 

The  negroes  were  helped  in  every  way  to  gather  the 
cotton,  not  being  interrupted  or  broken  down  by  any 
other  work.  Some  of  the  men  were  detailed  to  carry 
the  cotton-hampers  to  the  wagons  that  the  pickers 
might  lift  no  weights.  Water-carriers,  with  buckets 
of  fresh  water,  went  up  and  down  the  rows  handing 
water  to  the  pickers.  They  would  get  so  interested 
and  excited  over  the  work  that  they  had  to  be  made 
to  leave  the  fields  at  night,  some  of  the  very  ambitious 
ones  wishing  to  sleep  at  the  end  of  their  rows,  that 


70        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

they  might  be  up  and  at  work  in  the  morning  earlier 
than  their  rivals-  The  cotton  was  weighed  three  times 
a  day,  and  the  number  of  pounds  picked  by  each  ser- 
vant set  down  opposite  to  his  or  her  name  on  a  slate. 
Quite  a  remarkable  feat  of  memory  was  exhibited  by 
one  of  the  negro  men  one  day  in  connection  with  this. 
His  duty  was  to  help  the  overseer  to  weigh  the  cotton. 
One  day  the  slate  was  caught  in  a  rain  and  the  figures 
were  obliterated.  This  man  came  that  night  to  the 
master's  desk  and  gave  from  memory  every  record  on 
the  slate,  the  morning,  mid-day,  and  evening  weights 
of  each  picker.  The  negroes  stood  near  enough  to 
hear  if  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  any  man's  figures. 
It  was  the  more  remarkable  as  he  could  not  have  ex- 
pected to  be  called  on  to  do  this.  In  addition  to  the 
cotton  crop,  corn  was  raised  in  such  abundance  that  it 
was  not  an  unusual  thing  to  sell  a  surplus  of  a  thousand 
or  two  bushels  or  more.  A  maxim  with  the  master 
was  that  no  animal  grew  fat  on  bought  corn.  In 
putting  in  his  corn  crop  he  made  full  allowance  for 
a  bad  season,  hence  there  was  never  a  scarcity.  A 
lock  on  a  corn-crib  was  not  known.  After  the  mules 
and  horses  were  fed  in  the  evening  the  negroes  carried 
home  all  that  they  cared  to  have.  They  raised  chickens 
by  the  hundred.  One  of  the  chicken-raisers,  old  Uncle 
Isaac,  estimated  that  he  raised  five  hundred,  unless  the 
season  was  bad.  Uncle  Isaac's  boast  was  that  he  was 
a  child  of  the  same  year  as  the  master,  and  that  the 
master's  mother  had  given  to  him  in  her  own  arms 
some  of  the  baby  Thomas's  milk,  as  there  was  more  of 
it  than  he  wanted.  He  would  draw  himself  up  as  he 
added,  "  I  called  marster  brother  till  I  was  a  right  big 
boy,  an'  I  called  his  mother  ma  till  I  was  old  enough 
to  know  better  an'  to  stop  it  myself.  She  never  tole 
me  to  stop." 

The  negroes  sold  all  the  chickens  they  did  not  eat. 
They  were  taken  to  Raymond  or  Cooper's  Well  in  a 
four-mule  wagon,  provided  by  the  master.  As  he  paid 
the  market  price,  and  as  there  was  some  risk  of  their 
getting  less  than  he  gave,  there  was  not  often  a  desire 
to  send  them  off  if  ho  would  take  them.     And  he  had 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  MISSISSIPPI.  71 

need  to  buy  all  he  used  after  the  death  of  our  faithful 
Granny  Harriet.  Different  servants  were  given  the 
care  of  the  poultry,  and  all  failed  so  signally  that  Aunt 
Kitty,  who  was  renowned  for  success  in  her  own 
poultry-yard,  was  placed  in  charge.  She  was  given  all 
the  conveniences  and  facilities  she  asked  for, — chicken- 
houses,  coops,  and  separate  enclosures  for  young 
chickens.  The  result  of  all  this  outlay  was  not  a 
chicken  the  first  year,  and  only  one  the  second.  The 
history  of  that  one  deserves  to  be  recorded.  It  was 
hatched  out  in  the  hedge  and  raised  by  its  mother  hen 
without  the  aid  of  our  accomplished  hen  hussy. 

The  thrifty  negroes  made  so  much  on  their  chickens,  . 
peanuts,  popcorn,  molasses-cakes,  baskets,  mats,  brooms,  y 
taking  in  sewing,  and  in  other  little  ways,  that  they 
were  able  to  buy  luxuries.  Some  of  the  women  bought 
silk  dresses ;  many  had  their  Sunday  dresses  made  by 
white  mantua-makers.  Of  course  they  had  the  clothes 
of  the  master  and  mistress  in  addition ;  and  in  later 
years,  as  the  house  grew  full  of  young  masters  and 
young  mistresses,  theirs  were  added.  As  the  family 
knew  that  the  servants  liked  nothing  so  well  as  the 
well-made  clothes  that  they  laid  aside,  they  wore  their 
clothes  but  little.  They  justly  considered  that  those 
who  had  labored  for  them  had  rights  to  them  while 
still  fresh.  Under  these  circumstances  it  did  not  seem 
wasteful  for  a  daughter  of  the  house  to  distribute,  at 
the  end  of  a  season,  as  many  as  a  dozen  or  more  dresses 
that  had  been  made  up  but  a  few  months  before.  It 
was  quite  funny  to  see  among  the  gallants  three  or  four 
swallow-tail  coats  of  the  master's  come  in  at  the  gate 
for  the  grand  promenade  on  Sunday  evenings,  escorting 
the  colored  belles  in  all  their  bravery  of  hoop-skirts, 
and  ruffles,  and  ribbons,  and  flowers.  Mammy  Harriet 
gives  me  this  account  of  the  management  at  Burleigh : 

"  De  men  had  twelve  pounds  o'  meat  ebery  two  weeks 
an'  de  women  ten  pounds.  Yiney,  my  brer  Billy's 
daughter,  had  as  much  as  a  man.  You  see  she  was  a 
hearty  eater.  An'  dey  had  'lasses  too  'cordin'  to  dey 
famblys, — a  water-bucketful.  Den  some  on  'em  let  dey 
meat  gin  out  an'  come  for  mo'.     Marster  o-it  'em  mo' 


72        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

meat  out  o'  de  house,  an'  den  he  go  out  to  de  smoke- 
house an'  cut  mo'.  I  hab  see  marster  out  in  de  fiel'  after 
breakfast  an'  Headman  Charles  say  to  him,  'Marster, 
some  o'  dese  people  ain't  got  nothin'  to  eat.'  Den  he 
ride  back  an'  hab  a  bushel  o'  meal  sifted,  an'  git  a  piece 
o'  meat,  an'  tie  up  de  salt,  an'  ride  back  an'  say, 
'  Charles,  let  those  fellows  get  a  plenty  of  oak  bark 
and  cook  these  things.  Here  is  a  plenty  of  meat  and. 
meal  and  salt.'  Den  dey  sot  on  sometimes  a  dozen 
pots  an'  bile  water  to  make  up  all  dat  bread. 

"Dyar  warn't  no  chile  born  on  dat  place  widdout  no 
clo'es  to  put  on.  Missis  had  'em  made  in  de  house.  I 
know  I  myself  mik'  clo'es  for  ]S"elly  chile,  eben  to  de 
bonnet.  I  mik'  de  bonnet  out  o'  a  piece  o'  missis  dress. 
She  gib  five  pieces  to  ebery  chile  at  a  time.  She  had 
two  made  in  de  house,  de  udder  three  she  ssxy,  '  Make 
yourself.    Tou  ought  to  know  how  to  sew  for  yourself.' 

"  Ebey  udder  Sunday  was  draw  day.  Dey  draw  de 
meat  an'  missis  lay  aside  all  her  clo'es  an'  her  chillun 
clo'es  to  gib  'way, — a  pile  on  'em.  She  say,  '  Maria, 
send  the  servants  to  me  in  the  house,'  an'  she  gib  de 
clo'es  to  'em.  I  heard  her  say  to  marster  one  day, 
'  There  is  a  beggar-woman  here.'  '  Well,  have  you 
something  to  give  her?'  'No;  I  have  too  many  ser- 
vants to  give  my  clothes  to  beggars.  Give  her  some 
money.'  He  say,  '  Yery  well.'  An'  he  gib  de  'oman 
money.  She  nebber  'fused  her  people  nuthin' ;  nobody 
warn't  'fear'd  to  ask  her  for  anything." 

One  day  a  great  lubberly,  stupid  negro  woman  stalked 
into  her  room  and  said,  "  Missis,  gib  me  a  dress."  The 
woman  was  uncouth  and  rude.  The  little  girl  sitting 
with  her  mother  saw  her  get  up  at  once  and  hand  a 
pretty  woollen  dress  to  the  woman.  "  She  did  not  even 
thank  you,"  the  child  objected,  when  the  negro  had 
gone  out.  "And  don't  it  teach  her  to  beg  to  give  her 
the  dress  when  she  asks  for  it  ?"  Time  has  not  oblit- 
erated the  memory  of  the  gentle  rebuke.  "  Poor  thing, 
she  has  no  one  to  teach  her  manners,  and  she  has  so 
little  sense,  and  no  one  to  ask  for  anything  but  me.  I 
was  very  glad,  indeed,  that  she  came  and  asked  me  for 
something." 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  MISSISSIPPI.  73 

For  some  years  the  master  accompanied  every  wagon 
loaded  with  cotton  that  went  to  market  from  his  plan- 
tation. He  slept  on  these  journeys  under  the  wagons, 
and  sometimes  on  awakening  in  the  morning  he  found 
that  his  great-coat,  in  which  he  was  wrapped,  was 
frozen  hard  to  the  ground.  His  negro  drivers  were 
more  heavily  clad  than  himself,  each  one  being  pro- 
vided with  a  thick  woollen  great-coat  that  reached  to 
his  heels,  home-knit  woollen  socks  and  gloves,  and  an 
enormous  comforter  for  the  neck.  No  illness  resulted 
from  the  exposure.  In  the  morning  a  hot  meal,  cooked 
by  one  of  the  negroes — and  all  the  race  are  admirable 
cooks — was  shai*ed  by  the  master  and  his  men. 

Until  over  seventy  years  old,  he  was  singularly  in- 
different to  cold  or  heat,  or  to  discomforts  of  any  sort. 
But  he  felt  compassion  for  his  negroes.  He  knew  that 
the  warm  African  blood  in  their  veins  was  not  fitted  to 
endure  what  ho  could  stand.  He  never  regarded  the 
weather  for  himself,  but  was  very  careful  about  send- 
ing them  out  in  bad  weather,  and  never  did  it  unless  it 
seemed  a  necessity.  On  such  occasions  he  wore  an 
anxious  look,  and  said  that  he  could  not  go  to  bed  un- 
til his  servants  had  gotten  home  safely.  They  were 
always  sure  of  finding  a  hot  fire  and  a  warm  drink 
ready  for  them  on  their  return. 

Every  other  year  he  distributed  blankets  on  the  plan- 
tation, giving  one  apiece  to  each  individual.  Many  of 
the  families  were  large,  and  as  the  fathers  would  move 
off  under  a  load  of  twelve  or  fourteen  blankets,  some, 
whose  quivers  were  less  full,  would  be  heard  to  exclaim 
over  the  good  fortune  of  the  lucky  ones.  There  were 
usually  a  dozen  or  so  left  over  in  these  distributions, 
and  they  were  thrown  in  for  good  measure  to  those  who 
had  the  large  families.  "  Poor  things,  they  have  so 
many  children,"  seemed  to  my  clear  mother  a  sufficient 
explanation  for  special  favors  that  she  often  bestowed 
on  those  who  had  no  other  claim.  Some  of  the  negro 
men  with  the  big  families  of  chikh'en  had  a  funny  little 
affectation  of  feio-nine;  not  to  know  either  the  names  or 
the  number  of  their  boys  and  girls.  "  I  disremember, 
missis,  dyar's  so  many  on  'em,"  with  a  little  pleased 
d  7 


/ 


74        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

laugh,  was  considered  a  sufficient  answer  to  inquiries 
on  the  subject  on  every-day  occasions.  But  not  so  on 
the  days  when  blankets  were  to  be  given  out.  Then 
their  memories  were  fresh.  Then  the  babies  that  had 
not  been  in  their  cradles  more  than  a  few  da}7s,  mayhap 
hours,  were  remembered  and  mentioned  in  due  turn, 
with  no  danger  of  being  forgotten  or  overlooked  be- 
cause there  were  "  so  many  on  'em." 

In  addition  to  the  blankets,  comforts  were  quilted  in 
the  house  by  the  seamstresses  for  every  woman  who 
had  a  young  baby.  The  every-day  clothes  of  all  the 
negroes  were  cut  out  and  made  in  the  house ;  two  com- 
plete woollen  suits  for  winter  and  two  cotton  ones  for 
summer.  For  Sundays,  a  bright  calico  dress  was  given 
to  each  woman.  The  thrifty  ones,  and,  with  scarcely 
an  exception,  these  negroes  were  thrifty,  had  more 
than  they  needed,  and  the  clothes  were  in  their  chests 
a  year  before  they  were  put  on.  The  woollen  socks  and 
stockings  for  both  men  and  women  were  knit  in  the 
cabins  by  old  women,  and  in  the  "great  house"  by 
young  girls.  These  last  were  set  a  task  by  the  mis- 
tress, with  the  privilege  of  holiday  the  rest  of  the  day 
when  it  was  done.  This  had  the  desired  effect  of  mak- 
ing them  quick  and  industrious,  and  so  interested  that 
they  would  be  at  their  work  betimes  in  the  morning. 
The  clever  ones  sometimes  get  through  with  the  allotted 
task  before  breakfast. 

On  rainy  days  all  the  plantation  women  were  brought 
into  the  house.  Then  Mammy  Maria,  who  was  in  her 
way  a  field-marshal  on  such  occasions,  gave  out  the 
work  and  taught  them  to  sew.  By  word  and  action  she 
stimulated  and  urged  them  on,  until  there  was  not  on  the 
Burleigh  plantation  a  woman  who  could  not  make  and 
mend  neatly  her  own  and  her  husband's  and  children's 
clothes. 

Poor  mammy!  She  dreaded  these  days  of  teaching 
and  worrying  over  her  big  scholars.  It  gave  her  the 
headache,  she  said:  some  seemed  so  hopelessly  dull  and 
stupid  and  lazy, — so  unlike  herself.  Hers  was  a  case 
both  of  greatness  thrust  upon  one  and  of  greatness 
achieved.     She  had  grown  up  at  my  mother's  feet, 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  MISSISSIPPI.  75 

having  been  about  her  ever  since  she  could  remember, 
and  had  come  to  love  the  white  family  better  than  her 
own  blood  and  race.  She  resented  their  being  deceived 
and  imposed  on  by  her  fellow-servants,  and  did  not  fail 
to  inform  them  when  such  was  the  case.  This  confi- 
dence was  considered  as  sacred,  but  of  course  it  grew 
to  be  known  that  Mammy^^aria^wasa  "  white  folks' 
servant."  '<     ' 

She  was  far  more  severe  in  her  judgment  of  misde- 
meanors than  the  master  and  mistress.  The  place  that 
she  had  made  for  herself  was  one  that  would,  in  a  char- 
acter less  true  and  strong,  have  brought  on  herself  the 
hatred  and  the  distrust  of  her  race.  But  they  knew 
her  to  be  just,  one  who  never  assailed  the  innocent, 
and  with  so  warm  and  compassionate  a  heart  in  real 
trouble  that  none  were  afraid  to  come  to  her.  From 
being  a  confidential  servant  she  grew  into  being  a  kind 
of  prime  minister,  and  it  was  well  known  that  if  she 
espoused  a  cause  and  took  it  to  the  master  it  was  sure 
to  be  attended  to  at  once,  and  according  to  her  advice. 

Her  independence  and  fearlessness  in  the  discharge 
of  her  duty,  both  to  the  master  and  to  her  fellow- 
servants,  won  for  her  the  affection  and  esteem  of  both. 
In  consequence  of  her  popularity  with  her  own  color, 
her  namesakes  became  so  numerous  that  the  master 
had  to  forbid  any  further  increase  of  them,  on  account 
of  the  confusion  to  which  it  gave  rise.  This  her  ad- 
mirers evaded  by  having  the  babies  christened  Maria, 
and  another  name  adopted  for  every-day  use. 

My  brave,  good  mammy!  Who  that  knew  thee  in 
these  days,  when  thy  heart  was  gay  and  bold  as  a 
young  soldier's,  could  think  that  the  time  would  come 
when  that  faithful  heart  would  break  for  the  love  of 
thy  old  master ! 


76       MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 
CHAPTER  YI. 

PLANTATION   MANAGEMENT. 

Thomas  owned  more  negroes  than  could  work  with 
advantage  on  one  place.  He  was  advised  to  put  a 
part  on  a  second  plantation,  but  he  refused  to  let 
a  consideration  of  profit  induce  him  to  place  his  ser- 
vants where  he  could  not  personally  attend  to  their 
welfare.  All  the  negroes  were  encouraged  to  come 
freely  to  the  house  to  see  the  master  and  mistress,  and 
they  were  very  fond  of  making  visits  there,  even  when 
there  was  nothing  more  important  to  say  than  to  ask 
after  the  young  masters  off  at  college,  and  to  send 
their  how  d'ye  to  them.  They  had  their  favorites 
among  the  growing-up  sons  and  daughters,  and  chose 
their  future  owners,  and  spoke  of  themselves  as  belong- 
ing to  the  ones  sejected.  It  was  a  great  grief  to  those 
who  had  chosen  Charles  Dabney  when  he  was  cut  off 
at  the  threshold  of  his  life,  and  I  never  heard  of  their 
making  a  second  choice. 

The  master  and  mistress  taught  the  negroes  truthful- 
ness and  honesty,  as  they  taught  their  own  children,  by 
not  tempting  them,  and  by  trusting  them.  It  was  a 
maxim  with  the  master  that  it  made  a  child  honest  and 
truthful  to  believe  its  word.  He  was  by  nature  so  un- 
suspicious that  it  required  no  effort  to  carry  this  out 
in  his  daily  life. 

On  one  occasion  one  of  his  daughters  was  "t  a  recep- 
tion in  New  York  given  to  the  House  of  Bishops.  The 
honored  guest  of  the  evening  was  that  great  mission- 
ary, Bishop  Selwyn,  of  Litchfield,  who  had  come  over 
from  England  to  our  General  Convention.  Among 
other  subjects  the  dishonesty  of  the  negro  race  was 
discussed,  and  some  one  asked  if  all  negroes  were 
thieves.  Thomas  Dabney's  daughter  felt  diffident 
about  speaking,  but  she  regretted  afterwards  that  she 
had  not  said  that  a  very  large  proportion  of  her  father's 


< 


PLANTATION  MANAGEMENT.  77 

negroes  could  be  trusted  to  any  extent.  The  inter- 
rogator had  probably  confounded  negroes  who  were 
trusted  with  those  who  were  not.  The  confidence 
shown  in  them  by  the  heads  of  her  Southern  home  had 
taught  the  negroes  so  much  self-respect  that  a  thor- 
oughly thievish  negro  was  put  under  the  ban  in  his 
own  little  world.  Thomas  had  the_control  of  about 
five  hundred_  of  themT  About  twohundred  were  his 
own,  andT  on  the~Burleigh  plantation.  The  othei*s  be- 
longed to  his  wards,  and  were  nearly  all  family  negroes, 
closely  related  to  his,  and  living  on  neighboring  plan- 
tations. He  had  the  management  of  four  estates  be- 
longing to  minors.  It  was  a  saying  inThe  family  that 
the  estaTesTof  his  wards  were  better  managed  than  his 
own,  and  their  property  increased  faster  than  his. 
"  Of  course,  I  put  the  best  overseers  on  their  planta- 
tions," he  said.  "You  see,  I  am  here  to  look  after 
my  own."  The  negroes  of  these  came  to  him  as  to 
their  master,  and  he  treated  them  as  his  own. 

He  bought  a  cook,  one  of  his  mother's  negroes,  after 
he  went  to  Mississippi,  at  the  same  time  making  the 
arrangement  to  buy  her  husband.  For  some  reason 
both  did  not  go  out  together.  A  cook  was  always  a 
belle  on  a  plantation,  and  this  young  Alcey  soon  had 
all  the  unmarried  men  at  her  feet,  among  others  a 
young  fellow  named  Bob.  One  Sunday  evening,  as  the 
rival  suitors  were  sitting  with  her,  Bob,  who  was 
thought  to  be  a  favored  one,  got  his  jawbone  caught 
back  in  an  unfortunate  yawn,  and  spent  several  hours 
speechless,  with  his  mouth  wide  open,  while  a  mes- 
senger was  despatched  for  the  doctor.  But  this  did 
not  seem?  to  disillusionize  the  object  of  his  addresses,  for 
she  wrote  a  letter  to  her  husband  in  Yirginia  that 
quite  decided  him  not  to  join  her.  He  also,  it  was 
said,  had  been  casting  his  eyes  ai'ound  for  a  more  con- 
genial mate.  "When  Mrs.  Chamb'erlayne  spoke  to 
him  of  going  out  to  Mississippi,  he  answered  that 
Alcey  had  given  him  an  account  in  a  letter  of  the 
terrible  ocean  that  had  to  be  gone  over  on  the  way. 
Mrs.  Chamberlayne  said  that  if  a  woman  could  stand 
the  journey  a  strong  man  certainly  could.     "  Yes,  Miss 

7* 


78        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

Marthy,  but  Alcey  know  more  'bout  dem  mysteries 
dan  I  does." 

When  Alcey  was  spoken  to  on  the  subject,  she  said, 
"  Tell  marster  not  to  bother  'bout  sendin'  for  him.  He 
lazy  an'  puny  an'  no  'count."  Bob's  charms  had  tri- 
umphed. 

On  wedding  occasions,  in  addition  to  the  materials  for 
a  cake,  the  bride  always  expected  a  good  many  gifts, 
and  some  of  the  master's  family  to  be  present.  The 
mistress's  big  prayer-book  was  taken  over,  and  the 
marriage  service  read  by  one  of  the  young  masters. 
They  would  not  be  satisfied  unless  the  bride  and  the 
cake  were  duly  complimented.  The  children  of  the 
house-servants  were  married  in  the  dining-room  at 
Burleigh,  and  it  was  a  saying  in  the  family  that  these 
turned  out  to  be  happy  marriages. 

At  one  of  the  weddings  the  bridegroom  did  not  re- 
spond when  his  time  came.  "Solomon,"  said  the  young 
master,  "  say  thou  wilt."  "  Thou  wilt,"  repeated  Solo- 
mon, in  his  most  solemn  voice.  The  marriage  ceremony 
went  on. 

"Courtenay,  wilt  thou  have  this  man  to  thy  wedded 
husband,  to  live  together  after  God's  ordinance  in  the 
holy  estate  of  matrimony?  Wilt  thou  obey  him,  and 
serve  him,  love,  honor,  and  keep  him  in  sickness  and 
in  health;  and,  forsaking  all  others,  keep  thee  only  unto 
him,  so  long  as  ye  both  shall  live?" 

"  I  does,"  responded  the  bride. 

The  nurse  who  took  care  of  the  women  when  their 
babies  were  born  received  a  fee  each  time.  The  mothers 
themselves  looked  on  these  seasons  as  gala  times.  They 
were  provided  with  flour,  sugar,  dried  fruit,  and  often 
meals  from  the  table,  and  a  woman  to  do  all  their  cook- 
ing, washing,  and  house-work  for  a  month.  During 
the  rest  of  the  year  they  did  little  more  than  take  care 
of  the  babies.  Their  cabins  were  clean  and  orderly, 
their  beds  gay  with  bright  quilts,  and  often  the  pillows 
were  snowy  enough  to  tempt  any  head. 

When  we  children  were  allowed  to  go  to  see  some 
of  the  servants,  they  delighted  in  setting  out  a  little 
feast.     If  they  had  nothing  else,  we  were  not  allowed 


PLANTATION  MANAGEMENT.  79 

to  go  without  a  new-laid  egg  or  two.  Once  at  Christ- 
mas' Mammy  Harriet  gave  a  "  high  tea"  to  us  children. 
I  was  at  that  time  about  fourteen  years  of  age,  the  oldest 
of  the  invited.  A  friend  of  my  own  age,  Arabella  Foote, 
the  youngest  daughter  of  Henry  S.  Foote  (G-overnor 
and  United  States  Senator),  was  spending  her  Christ- 
mas holidays  with  me.  Mammy  felt  some  modesty 
about  inviting  the  young  lady  into  her  house,  but  I 
took  Arabella,  and  she  enjo3~ed  it  as  much  as  any  of  us. 
Mammy  had  made  a  nice  cake  and  hot  biscuits  and  tea 
for  the  occasion,  set  out  in  her  choicest  cups,  some  of 
rare  old  china,  and  with  sugar  in  the  sugar-bowl  that 
she  had  inherited  from  her  mother.  She  gave  us  be- 
sides, sweetmeats,  nuts,  raisins,  fruits  of  several  kinds, 
— indeed,  a  delightful  tea.  And  she  stood  behind  us 
waiting  on  the  table,  her  bright  ban'danna  kerchief 
towering  aloft  on  her  head,  and  she  looking  so  pleased. 

The  children  delighted  in  teaching  the  house-servants.  I 
One  night  the  whole  family  were  formally  invited,  the 
master,  mistress,  governess,  and  guests,  by  a  twelve- 
year-old  school-mistress  to  hear  her  pupils  recite  poetry. 
She  had  about  a  dozen  of  the  maids,  old  and  young, 
Mammy  Maria  among  them.  One  of  the  guests  was 
quite  astonished  to  see  his  own  servant,  whom  he  had 
with  him  spending  several  months  at  Burleigh,  get  up 
and  recite  a  piece  of  poetry  that  had  been  learned  with 
pains  for  this  occasion. 

Some  of  the  sons  taught  those  of  the  plantation 
negroes  who  cared  to  learn,  but  very  few  were  willing 
to  take  the  trouble  to  study.  Virginius  was  successful 
with  his  scholars.  Five  of  them  learned  to  read  so 
well  that  they  became  preachers.  For  this  service 
he  got  one  dozen  eggs  a  month ;  or  occasionally  in  lieu 
of  this  he  received  a  pullet  at  the  end  of  two  months. 
He  taught  in  the  kitchen  by  the  light  of  pine  torches. 
His  method  of  enforcing  discipline  on  these  middle- 
aged  men  was  truly  ludicrous.  As  his  tutor,  being,  one  \ 
of  the  old-fashioned  sort,  did  not  spare  the  rod  in  the 
morning,  so  at  night  Virginius  belabored  the  backs  of 
his  sturdy  fellows.  His  beatings  were  received  with 
shouts  of  laua-hter,  the  whole  school  would  be  in  an 


80        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER.         \ 

uproar,  the  scholars  dodging  about  to  escape  the  young 
pedagogue's  stick,  and  the  cook  and  other  on-lookers 
roaring  with  laughter.  One  of  his  graduates  asked  his 
advice  as  to  a  course  of  reading,  suggesting  history  as 
the  branch  that  he  wished  to  pursue.  The  youthful 
teacher  promptly  advised  "  Robinson  Crusoe,"  and  lent 
his  own  handsome  copy  to  this  promising  pupil.  After 
reading  one  hundred  pages  Joe  came  to  him  and  said, 
"  Mars  Yirginius,  did  you  say  dat  book  was  history  ?" 
Virginius  explained  as  well  as  he  could  what  fiction 
was,  on  which  Joe  said,  "  I  bin  mistrustin'  all  'long  dat 
some  o'  de  things  what  Robinson  Crusoe  say  warn't 
true." 

With  negro  slaves  it  seemed  impossible  for  one  of 
them  to  do  a  thing,  it  mattered  not  how  insignificant, 
without  the  assistance  of  one  or  two  others.  It  was 
often  said  with  a  laugh  by  their  owners  that  it  took 
two  to  help  one  to  do  nothing.  It  required  a  whole 
afternoon  for  Joe,  the  aspirant  for  historical  knowledge, 
and  another  able-bodied  man  like  himself,  to  butcher  a 
sheep.  On  a  plantation  the  work  of  the  women  and 
children,  and  of  some  of  tbe  men  also,  amounted  to  so 
little  that  but  small  effort  was  made  to  utilize  it.  Of 
course,  some  kind  of  occupation  had  to'be  devised  to 
keep  them  employed  a  part  of  the  time.  But  it  was 
very  laborious  to  find  easy  work  for  a  large  body  of 
inefficient  and  lazy  people,  and  at  Burleigh  the  struggle 
was  given  up  in  many  cases.  The  different  departments 
would  have  been  more  easily  and  better  managed  if 
there  had  been  fewer  to  work.  Sometimes  a  friend 
would  say  to  the  master  that  he  made  smaller  crops 
than  his  negroes  ought  to  make.  His  reply  was  that 
he  did  not  desire  them  to  do  all  that  they  could. 

The  cook  at  Burleigh  had  always  a  scullion  or  two 
to  help  her,  besides  a  man  to  cut  her  wood  and  put  it 
on   the   huo-e   andirons.*     The   scullions   brought  the 


*  The  cook's  husband,  who  for  years  nacl  looked  on  himself  as  nearly 
blind,  and  therefore  unable  to  do  more  than  work  about  her,  and  put  her 
wood  on  the  fire,  sometimes  cutting  a  stick  or  two,  made  no  less  than 
eighteen  good  crops  for  himself  when  the  war  was  over.  He  was  one  of 
the  best  farmers  in  the  country.  S.  D.  S. 


PLANTATION  MANAGEMENT.  81 

water  and  prepared  the  vegetables,  and  made  them- 
selves generally  useful.  The  vegetables  were  gathered 
and  brought  from  the  garden  by  the  gardener,  or  by 
one  of  the  half-dozen  women  whom  he  frequently  had 
to  help  him.  A  second  cook  made  the  desserts,  sweet- 
meats, etc.  As  children,  we  thought  that  the  main 
business  of  the  head  cook  was  to  scold  the  scullion  and 
ourselves,  and  to  pin  a  dish-rag  to  us  if  we  ventured 
into  her  kitchen.  Four  women  and  a  boy  were  in 
charge  of  the  dairy.  As  the  cows  sometimes  wandered 
to  pastures  several  miles  away,  this  number  did  not 
seem  excessive.  The  boy  brought  the  cows  up,  some- 
times with  one  of  the  women  to  help  him.  Two  of  the 
women  milked;  the  third  held  the  semi-sinecure  office, 
taking  charge  of  the  milk  ;  and  the  fourth  churned. 

There  were  no.  blooded  cattle  on  the  plantation  for 
many  years,  but  thirty  cows  in  the  cowpen  gave  all  the 
milk  and  butter  that  was  needed  for  the  house  and 
plantation,  and  a  good  deal  of  butter  was  sold.  The 
pastures  were  so  good  that  the  cattle  increased  rapidly 
and  were  sold,  a  hundred  at  a  time.  Southdown  sheep 
were  imported  from  Kentucky  and  pigs  from  England. 
Everything  looked  well  and  fat  at  Burleigh.  The  mas- 
ter was  amused  on  being  asked  by  a  neighboring  farmer 
if  he  would  let  him  have  some  of  his  curly-tailed  breed 
of  pigs.  The  man  innocently  added  that  he  noticed 
they  were  always  fat,  not  knowing,  as  Thomas  used  to 
say,  in  repeating  this,  that  corn  would  make  the 
straightest  tail  curl.  His  beeves  were  fattened  two 
years,  after  they  had  worked  two  years  as  oxen  to  make 
the  flesh  firm.  One  year  they  ran  in  the  corn-field  be- 
fore the  corn  was  gathered,  and  the  next  they  were 
stalled.  As  all  the  oxen  were  fattened  for  beeves  after 
two  years  of  work,  no  old  ox  was  on  the  place.  He 
killed  every  winter  eight  or  ten  of  these  stalled  oxen. 
The  stalled  sheep  were  so  fat  that  they  sometimes  died 
of  suffocation.* 

*  "  It  was  just  one  week  before  Christmas.  .  .  .  The  stall-fed  ox 
nodded  over  his  trough;  the  broad-backed  Southdowns  clustered  to- 
gether in  a  corner  of  their  shed,  basked  in  the  sun  and  awaited  a  return 
of  appetite;  a  remnant  of  sturdy  porkers,  left  over  from  the  .November 

/ 


82        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

One  day,  on  the  occasion  of  a  large  dinner,  the  master 
was  hastily  summoned  to  the  kitchen,  to  see  there  a 
huge  saddle  of  Southdown  mutton  that  had  by  its  own 
weight  torn  itself  from  the  big  kitchen  spit,  and  was 
lying  in  the  basting-pan. 

During  the  spring  and  summer  lambs  were  butchered 
twice  a  week,  or  oftener  if  required.  That  did  not  keep 
down  the  flock  sufficiently,  and  a  great  many  were 
sold.  The  hides  from  the  beeves  almost  supplied  the 
plantation  with  shoes.  Two  of  the  negro  men  were 
tanners  and  shoemakers.  A  Southern  plantation,  well 
managed,  had  nearly  everything  necessary  to  life  done  ' 
within  its  bounds.  At  Burleigh  there  were  two  car- 
penters in  the  carpenter-shop,  two  blacksmiths  in  the 
blacksmith-shop,  two  millers  in  the  mill,  and  usually 
five  seamstresses  in  the  house.  In  the  laundry  there 
were  two  of  the  strongest  and  most  capable  women  on 
the  plantation,  and  they  were  perhaps  the  busiest  of 
the  corps  of  house-servants.  Boys  wore  kept  about, 
ready  to  ride  for  the  mail  or  to  take  notes  around  the 
neighborhood.  There  was  no  lack  of  numbers  to  fill 
every  place ;  the  trouble  was  rather  to  find  work  for 
supernumeraries,  as  already  intimated. 

One  of  the  overseers,  who  was  ambitious  to  put  in  a 
large  crop,  begged  to  have  some  of  these  hangers-on 

killing,  that  blinked  at  you  from  out  their  warm  beds,  and  grunted  when 
requested  to  rise,  suggested  sausage;  while  over  on  Charley's  farm,  and 
under  Aunt  Sucky's  able  management,  aldermanic  turkeys,  and  sleek, 
plump  pullets,  and  ducks,  quacking  low  from  very  fatness,  and  geese  that 
had  ceased  to  wrangle, — all  thought  themselves,  like  man  before  Coper- 
nicus, the  centre  of  the  universe.  .  .  . 

"  And  can  you  not  detect  the  odor  of  apples  issuing  even  from  that 
locked  door?  There  are  great  piles  of  them  stowed  away  there;  and 
cider,  I  suspect,  is  not  lacking.  And  above,  the  store-room  showed 
shelves  weighed  down,  since  the  arrival  of  the  last  steamer,  with  such 
things  as  Elmington  could  not  supply.  Boxes  and  bags  and  bundles 
gave  forth  the  mellow  fragrance  of  raisins,  the  cheerful  rattle  of  nuts, 
the  pungent  savor  of  spices, — the  promise  of  all  things  dear  to  the  heart 
of  the  Virginia  housewife.  On  every  whiff  floated  mince-pie, — mince- 
pie  embryonic,  uncompounded ;  with  every  sniff  there  rose,  like  an  ex- 
halation before  the  imagination,  visions  of  Plum-Pudding, — of  the  Plum- 
Pudding  of  Old  England, — twin  sister  of  Boast  Beef, — and  with  Boast 
Beef,  inseparable  attendant  and  indispensable  bulwark  of  Constitutional 
Liberty." — Don  Miff,  pp.  153,  154. 

The  above  jjassago  was  inspired  by  the  Burleigh  Christmas. 


PLANTATION  MANAGEMENT.  83 

sent  to  the  field.  There  were  twenty-seven  servants 
in  the  service  of  the  house,  he  said. 

The  land  in  cultivation  looked  like  a  lady's  garden, 
scarcely  a  blade  of  grass  to  be  seen  in  hundreds  of 
acres.  The  rows  and  hills  and  furrows  were  laid  off 
so  carefully  as  to  be  a  pleasure  to  the  eye.  The  fences 
and  bridges,  gates  and  roads,  were  in  good  order.  His 
wagons  never  broke  down.  All  these  details  may  seem 
quite  out  of  place  and  superfluous.  But  they  sbow  the 
character  of  the  man  in  a  country  where  many  such 
things  were  neglected  for  the  one  important  considera- 
tion,— the  cotton  crop. 

He  never  kept  a .  slow  mule ;  all  must  be  fast  and 
strong.  They  were  sold  as  soon  as  they  failed  to  come 
up  to  these  requirements.  Thomas  raised  all  his  own 
mules  and  nearly  all  his  own  horses, — his  thorough- 
bred riding-horses  always, — and  frequently  he  had 
moi'e  than  he  needed  of  both.  The  great  droves  of 
mules  and  horses  brought  annually  from  Tennessee 
and  Kentucky  to  less  thrifty  planters  found  no  sale  at 
Burleigh  unless  the  master  happened  to  need  a  pair  of 
carriage-horses.  Two  teams  of  six  mules  each  carried 
off  his  cotton  crop,  going  to  the  station  every  working 
day  for  months.  It  was  only  ten  miles  off,  but  the 
eight  bales  of  cotton,  that  weighed  nearly  five  hundred 
pounds  apiece,  and  the  heavy,  deeply  cut-up  roads, 
made  it  a  day's  journey.  As  the  returning  wagon- 
drivers  came  up  in  the  evenings  they  were  met  by 
other  men,  who  took  the  mules  out  and  cared  for  them, 
and  loaded  up  the  wagons  for  the  next  day.  It  was 
not  considered  right  by  the  master  that  those  who  oc- 
cupied the  responsible  position  of  drivers  should  have 
these  labors  to  perform.  They  had  nothing  to  do  but 
to  go  to  the  house  to  deliver  the  cotton  receipts,  get  a 
drink  of  whiskey,  and  some  tobacco  too,  if  the  regular 
allowance  issued  had  run  shoi't,  and  then  home  to  sup- 
per and  to  rest,  ready  for  a  fresh  start  in  the  morning. 

Hog-killing  time  was  a  high  carnival  on  the  planta- 
tion. There  were  usually  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  or 
a  hundred  and  seventy-five  hogs,  sometimes  more. 
They  supplied  the  house  all  the  year  round,  and  the 


84        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

negroes  for  six  months.  He  had  taken  out  to  Missis- 
sippi the  Virginia  art  of  curing  bacon.  His  hams  were 
famous  among  his  friends  and  guests,  as  were  the  chops 
and  saddles  of  Southdown  mutton,  the  legs  of  venison, 
wild  or  from  his  park,  the  great  rounds  and  sirloins  of 
beef,  and  the  steaks  cut  with  the  grain. 

It  was  no  waste  or  useless  lavish ness  that  these  great 
roasts  of  beef  or  mutton  were  seldom  put  on  the  table 
a  second  time,  or  that  the  number  of  chickens  in  the 
fattening  coops  were  in  the  season  not  allowed  to  fall 
below  sixty,  or  that  during  the  winter  and  spring  tur- 
keys were  on  the  table  twice  a  week.  Not  only  the 
house-servants,  but  usually  several  sick  and  favorite 
ones,  were  fed  from  the  table.  In  addition  to  these, 
there  were  almost  always  the  servants  of  guests  and 
neighbors  in  the  house. 

It  was  customary  on  many  plantations  for  boys  to 
drive  the  mules  in  the  cotton-gin.  Under  them  the 
mules  did  not  thrive,  and  had  frequently  to  be  changed. 
On  the  Burleigh  place  the  most  experienced  and  trust- 
worthy of  the  drivers  had  charge  of  the  gin-mules. 
Under  them  the  same  team  ginned  out  the  entire  crop, 
working  at  it  every  day  for  months.  At  the  end  of 
the  season  they  were  as  fat  and  well  as  at  the  beginning. 

Fodder-pulling  was  looked  on  with  dread  by  most 
planters,  as  the  hot  Avork  among  the  corn-stalks  gave 
the  negroes  chills  and  fevei-s.  The  master  of  Burleigh 
guarded  his  negroes  against  sickness  by  providing  two 
barrels  of  whiskey  for  this  season.  Every  man  and 
woman  came  for  a  cup  of  it  when  the  day's  work  was 
over.  The  wag  of  the  plantation,  Uncle  Beverly,  was 
always  given  two  cups,  because  he  had  a  very  funny 
way  of  opening  his  enormous  mouth  and  throwing  the 
contents  of  the  cup  into  it  as  if  he  were  throwing  it 
into  a  bucket.  Everybody  laughed  when  he  did  it,  the 
master  enjoying  it  as  much  as  any  of  them. 

The  heart-warming  laugh  with  his  master  seemed  to 
be  the  best  part. 

Indulgent  as  he  was  when  he  thought  his  servants 
needed  liquor,  he  was  equally  strict  in  forbidding  them 
to  touch  it  at  other  times.     It  was  his  boast  that  he 


PLANTATION  MANAGEMENT.  85 

was  always  obeyed  in  this,  and  also  that  under  his 
system  he  had  never  had  a  drunkard  on  his  plantation. 
Our  friends  and  neighbors  were  not  sure  at  Christmas 
and  other  festive  seasons  that  the  dining-room  servants 
would  not  be  intoxicated.  At  Burleigh  the  servants 
knew  that  the  eo;crno°;-bowl  and  the  other  things  would 
be  handed  to  them  at  the  proper  time,  and  they  felt  a 
pride  in  not  displeasing  the  family  by  bad  conduct. 
Likewise,  his  wagon-drivers  were  put  on  their  good 
behavior  as  long  as  they  had  the  wagons  and  teams 
under  their  care.  The  servants  who  went  with  the 
carriage  to  dinner-parties  and  at  night  about  in  the 
neighborhood  had  the  lives  of  wife  and  children  in 
their  keeping,  he  used  to  say,  and  he  chose  them  for 
their  steadiness,  and  was  never  deceived  or  disap- 
pointed. In  connection  with  this,  his  children  and  a 
number  of  young  people,  guests  at  Burleigh,  were  near 
meeting  with  an  accident  one  cold  winter's  night.  The 
roads  were  heavy,  having  been  cut  up  by  the  cotton- 
wagons,  and  it  was  thought  unsafe  to  go  over  five 
miles  of  a  bad  road  on  a  dark  night  in  anything  less 
substantial  than  a  six-mule  plantation-wagon.  There 
was  great  glee  and  fun  in  the  getting  off.  It  was  at 
the  Christmas  season,  and  everybody  felt  in  spirit  for 
enjoying  the  Christmas-parties  at  the  countrj'-houses. 
There  had  been  a  series  of  them.  As  the  wagon  was 
loaded  up  with  its  gay,  living  freight,  there  was  some 
talk  of  firing  off  some  of  the  children's  fire-crackers  in 
order  to  put  mettle  into  the  mules.  In  the  lightness  of 
his  heart  the  master  called  out  to  the  steady  Lewis,  his 
trusted  driver,  "  Lewis,  don't  bring  them  back  till  you 
have  upset  them  twice.''  And  with  that  parting  speech, 
which  was  received  with  cheers,  he  went  back  into  the 
house.  He  did  not  dream  that  Lewis,  who  had  never 
disobeyed  him  in  his  life,  did  not  mean  to  disobey  him 
this  time.  We  thought  that  Lewis  was  surely  intoxi- 
cated, from  the  manner  in  which  he  brought  us  back 
home.  But  we  had  not  had  time  to  tell  papa  of  our 
grave  suspicions  before  Lewis's  honest  face  appeared 
at  the  door  with  his  apology  to  the  amazed  master. 
"  I  do  my  ve'y  bes',  marster,  to  tu'n  dat  waggin  ober, 


86        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

sir.    I  run  it  in  all  de  gullies  I  could  fin',  but  I  couldn't 
tu'n  it  ober,  sir." 

Southern  children  were  taught  to  call  the  colored 
people  aunt  and  uncle  as  titles  of  respect.  They  re- 
sented being  called  by  their  names  without  the  title, 
and  considered  that  it  spoke  ill  for  the  manners  of  a 
child  who  would  do  so  rude  a  thing.  They  called  each 
other  "  brer"  and  "  sis."  This  referred,  not  to  the  natu- 
ral relationship,  but  to  their  relationship  in  the  church. 
On  formal  occasions  they  were  "Mr."  and  "Mrs." 
Ignorance  of  this  led  me  into  sad  disgrace  one  night  with 
my  usually  indulgent  Mammy  Maria.  She  had  taken 
me  to  see  her  brother  married.  I  heard  her  address 
him  as  Mr.  Ferguson,  and  at  once  asked,  "  Mammy, 
what  makes  you  call  Henry  Mr.  Ferguson?"  "Do  you 
think  'cause  we  are  black  that  we  cyarn't  have  no 
names?"  was  mammy's  indignant  reply.  She  could 
not  be  angry  more  than  a  minute  with  "  her  white 
chillun."  She  never  went  to  wedding  or  party  or 
quilting  without  bringing  to  us  an  apple  or  a  cake  or  a 
bouquet, — whatever  was  given  to  her  there.  I  do  not 
think  that  her  own  children  fared  as  well.  The  mis- 
tress had  wet-nurses  for  her  babies,  chosen  from  among 
her  negro  servants.  The  devotion  of  the  nurses  to 
these  foster-children  was  greater  than  their  love  for 
their  own.  One  of  them,  with  a  baby  at  home  very 
sick,  left  it  to  stay  with  the  white  child.  This  one  she 
insisted  on  walking  the  night  through,  because  he  was 
roaring  with  the  colic,  though  the  mistress  entirely 
disapproved,  and  urged  her  to  go  home  to  her  own 
child,  whose  illness  was  more  serious,  if  less  noisy, 
than  the  white  nursling  with  its  colic. 


STILL   WATERS  AND    GREEN  PASTURES.        87 


CHAPTER  VII. 

STILL   WATERS   AND    GREEN   PASTURES. 

The  summer  of  1836  was  spent  by  the  Burleigh 
Dabneys  in  Virginia.  They  returned  home  in  October, 
and  two  weeks  after  reaching  the  plantation  Sophia 
gave  birth  to  her  sixth  son,  Edward. 

The  Burleigh  plantation  was  regarded  as  a  healthful 
place.  Thomas  left  a  belt  of  trees  ai^ound  his  house  of 
a  half-mile  to  nearly  a  mile  in  width,  that  no  upturning 
of  the  soil  in  the  cultivation  of  the  crops  might  en- 
danger the  health  of  his  family.  He  spent  the  summer 
of  1837  at  home ;  but  he  sent  Sophia  and  her  boys  to 
Raymond,  to  her  father's.  She  spent  the  next  eight 
summers  there,  the  winters  being  passed  on  the  plan- 
tation, which  lay  ten  miles  south  of  Raymond. 

A  great  sorrow  came  to  the  household  in  the  summer 
of  1838.  Thomas  was  at  Mount  Prospect  on  a  visit  to 
his  mother,  when  a  letter  from  Mr.  Lewis  Smith  in- 
formed him  that  his  six-year-old  James  and  his  Christ- 
mas boy,  Thomas,  ten  years  of  age,  both  died  within 
one  week.  James  died  on  the  9th  and  Thomas  on  the 
15th  of  July.  Years  after  this  Thomas  said  that  his 
heart  had  sunk  lower  in  his  body  from  the  day  that  he 
heard  of  the  lpss  of  his  two  fair  boys.  James  died  first, 
and  Sophia,  dreading  tne  efiect  on  Thomas,  allowed  no 
one  to  tell  him  that  his  playfellow  was  gone.  In  dying 
Thomas  called  out,  "Oh,  I  see  Jimmy!  Oh,  gold  all 
around!     So  beautiful!" 

The  two  weeks  of  weary  journeying  and  anxiety  on 
the  way  from  Virginia  to  Mississippi,  during  which  his 
fears  were  for  the  worst,  at  length  came  to  an  end. 
Thomas  Dabney  approached  the  home  in  which  he  had 
left  Sophia  and  her  five  boys.  He  dreaded  lest  his 
whole  Family  had  been  swept  off  by  the  disease  that 
had  taken  away  two.     Great,  indeed,  were  his  relief 


88        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

and  thankfulness  when  Sophia,  in  her  white  dress,  with 
her  Mississippi  baby,  Edward,  in  her  arms,  met  him  at 
the  gate.  She  and  three  children  had  been  spared  to 
him. 

Thomas  and  Sophia  found  great  comfort  and  enjoy- 
ment in  the  near  neighborhood  of  her  favorite  sister 
Emmeline  and  her  husband,  Mr.  Smith.  The  brothers- 
in-law  were  very  congenial.  The  Smiths  lived  on  the 
adjoining  plantation  of  Midway,  and  the  families  spent 
the  Sundays  alternately  at  Burleigh  and  at  Midway. 

Augustine  Dabney  had  established  himself  in  Eay- 
mond.  He  soon  made  a  reputation  for  knowledge  of 
the  law  and  for  brilliant  literary  attainments.  He 
made  no  less  a  reputation  for  singular  simplicity  and 
unworldliness  of  character.  He  was  of  so  tender- 
hearted a  nature  that  he  charged  no  fees  of  any  widow. 
It  mattered  not  if  she  were  far  richer  than  he  was. 
Of  course,  this  became  known,  and  all  women,  and  men, 
too,  in  distress  and  trouble  came  to  him  for  the  advice 
and  ready  sympathy  and  assistance  which  they  were 
sure  to  receive.  The  kindly  nature  was  imposed  on 
sometimes,  but  he  did  not  resent  it,  and  was  ready  the 
next  time  he  heard  a  tale  of  distress  to  give  all  the 
comfort  in  his  power.  The  brothers  were  in  nearly 
every  characteristic  very  different,  but  in  their  faith  in 
human  nature  they  were  the  same, — nothing  could 
shake  that.  Both,  in  their  different  ways,  had  been 
deceived  in  people,  but  they  put  such  cases  out  of  their 
lives,  considering  them  exceptional.  The  two  hearts 
held  not  one  drop  of  bitterness.  Augustine  was  judge 
of  the  Probate  Court  of  Hinds  County  for  eight  years, 
the  result  of  four  biennial  elections  by  the  people.  He 
was  a  Whig.  The  Democratic  party  offered  no  oppos- 
ing candidate  from  November,  1851,  to  November,  1859, 
during  which  years  he  held  the  office.  Governor  A.  Gr. 
Brown,  for  many  years  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  Dem- 
ocratic party  in  Mississippi,  said  that  it  would  have  been 
useless  for  any  one  to  run  against  Augustine  Dabney. 

It  is  recorded  of  him  that  no  decision  of  his  while  on 
the  bench  was  reversed  by  the  Court  of  Appeals.  His 
hospitality  and  lavish  generosity  impaired  his  estate. 


STILL   WATERS  AND    GREEN  PASTURES.        89 

But  his  simple  home  in  Baymond  was  the  centre  of  all 
that  was  most  atti'active.  It  was  the  resort  of  his 
brothers  of  the  bar,  and  of  the  bishop  of  the  diocese 
and  the  clergy,  and  all  distinguished  visitors  in  the 
county. 

He  was  usually  very  quiet,  but  when  a  congenial 
theme  was  started,  he  was  a  charming  talker.  He  was 
so  scrupulously  truthful  in  the  smallest  details  that 
one  felt  condemned  who  had  been  betrayed  into  speak- 
ing in  an  exaggerated  style  in  his  presence.  Mrs.  Au- 
gustine Dabney  was  an  invalid,  with  a  nursery  full 
of  young  children.  She  led  the  conversation  at  her 
table,  unless  Augustine  happened  to  be  in  the  talking 
vein.  In  this  case  she  added  to  the  charm  of  the  en- 
tertainment by  her  witty  sallies,  not  taking  the  talk 
away  from  him,  but  rather  stimulating  him.  The  in- 
tercourse between  Mrs.  Augustine  Dabney  and  Sophia 
was  always  of  the  most  delightful  kind.  They  loved 
each  other  like  sisters.  The  children  of  the  brothers, 
under  such  influence,  grew  up  in  the  closest  intimacy, 
more  like  brothers  and  sisters  than  cousins.  It  wa3 
hardly  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  the  dearest  friend 
of  each  child  was  to  be  found  in  the  other  family.  They 
paired  off  according  to  their  ages,  which  fell  nearly 
together.  A  life  of  Thomas  could  not  be  written  if 
Augustine  and  his  family  were  left  out.  The  two 
households,  in  the  somewhat  isolated  life  in  Mississippi, 
were  more  intimate  with  each  other  than  with  any 
other  relations  on  either  side. 

In  the  eai'ly  days  of  Mississippi  the  Choctaw  Indians 
had  not  yet  been  moved  to  the  Indian  Territory.  They 
soon  learned  to  know  that  they  had  friends  in  the  fam- 
ily at  Burleigh.  They  fell  into  a  way  of  camping  for 
two  weeks  during  every  autumn  on  the  Tallahala  Creek. 
The  name  Tallahala  is  itself  a  Choctaw  word,  signify- 
ing owl.  The  lands  along  its  banks,  and  through  all 
that  region  of  country,  were  once  the  hunting-grounds 
of  the  Indians.  Many  of  their  stone  arrow-heads  are 
yet  to  be  found  scattered  through  the  woods,  and  many 
are  upturned  by  the  ploughmen  in  the  fields.  Less  than 
four  miles  from  Burleigh  is  a  spot  where  their  arrow- 

8* 


90        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

heads  were  evidently  made.  Bits  of  the  flint  lie  scat- 
tered as  they  were  left  by  them.  Arrow-heads  are 
there  in  all  stages  of  construction ;  on  each  one  can 
plainly  be  seen  the  reason  why  it  was  abandoned :  an 
unlucky  or  unskilful  blow  had  chipped  it  in  the  wrong 
place.  Some  were  merely  outlined  in  a  rude  way, 
some  had  one  side  well  shaped,  some  were  nearly  com- 
pleted, when  an  unwitting  stroke  spoiled  them.  Some 
were  plainly  the  work  of  the  veriest  tyro,  probably  of 
some  little  brave,  who  was  learning  already  the  noble 
arts  of  the  chase  and  of  war.  Three  and  a  half  miles 
southwest  of  this  spot  is  a  battle-field,  where,  in  these 
early  days,  these  arrow-heads  were  thickly  strewn.  In 
the  midst  is  an  Indian  burial-mound,  where,  tradition 
says,  the  slain  warriors  who  fell  in  that  battle  were  in- 
terred. Not  fifty  yards  from  the  door  of  the  Burleigh 
house,  on  a  hill-side,  two  very  curious  specimens  of 
Indian  stone-work  were  found  by  the  children, — one  a 
highly  polished  and  beautiful  hatchet.  The  Choctaws 
loved  the  Tallahala  Creek.  Its  banks  were  clothed 
with  thickets  of  cane  which  the  men  used  for  making 
their  blowguns  and  arrows,  and  the  women  for  making 
their  baskets.  Their  peculiar  way  of  selling  their 
baskets  was  interesting  A  certain  basket  would  have 
as  its  price  as  much  sugar  as  it  could  hold,  another 
coffee  in  the  same  proportion,  and  others  flour,  etc. 
This  arrangement  was  never  departed  from,  so  far  as 
we  know. 

It  was  quite  impossible  to  get  a  "  coffee-basket"  with 
sugar,  or  a  "  sugar-basket"  with  coffee,  I  think.  Pres- 
ents of  clothing  or  of  anything  else  were  promptly 
subjected  to  a  scrutinizing  examination  under  the  eyes 
of  the  donor.  If  a  torn  place  or  other  defect  could  be 
found,  it  was  pointed  out  with  equal  interest  and  naivete. 
They  were  an  innocent,  inoffensive  people,  and  never 
forgot  a  kindness.  They  were  so  scrupulously  honest 
that  they  burned  only  the  fallen  and  dead  boughs  that 
they  found  decaying  on  the  ground.  The  master's 
fences  and  his  woodpile  were  not  molested.  They  came 
in  the  cotton-picking  season,  and  the  planters  were  al- 
waj^s  glad  to  have  them,  as  they  picked  carefully  and 


STILL   WATERS  AND    GREEN  PASTURES.        91 

got  no  trash  in  their  bags.  They  did  all  work  well 
that  they  attempted  at  all,  tanning  buckskin,  blowgun- 
making,  and  basket-weaving.  On  one  occasion  a  baby 
was  born  in  the  Tallahala  camp  on  the  very  night  be- 
fore they  had  arranged  to  depart  for  their  homes.  This 
did  not  interfere  with  the  plan  of  march.  The  mother 
and  the  little  "pooscoos,"  as  the  Choctaws  call  their 
babies,  were  set  up  on  a  pony,  and  in  this  manner  they 
went  off.  The  voices  of  the  Choctaw  women  are  low 
and  sweet, — more  like  the  cooing  and  chirpings  of 
birds  than  like  the  human  voice  of  any  but  some  young 
children. 

Mr.  Lewis  Smith  was  a  true  friend  to  the  Indians. 
It  was  said  that  he  could  not  refuse  any  request  made 
by  them.  One  day  an  Indian  man  cast  admiring  eyes 
on  a  red  cloak  that  Mr.  Smith  had  provided  for  the 
winter,  and  on  an  intimation  that  he  desired  it  Mr. 
Smith  took  the  cloak  off  and  handed  it  to  him. 

It  was  with  genuine  reo-ret  that  their  white  friends 
saw  that  year  by  year  their  number  became  fewer. 
At  last  the  gray-headed  chief  led  to  the  "  nation"  the 
last  of  the  Choctaws  of  Hinds  County.  — 

Not  more  than  three  years  had  elapsed  since  Thomas 
had  made  his  home  in  Mississippi  when  he  received 
a  letter  from  John  Tyler,  who  aspired  to  the  office  of 
Vice-President  of  the  United  States,  requesting  him  to 
use  his  personal  influence  with  the  prominent  men  of 
Mississippi  to  bi"ing  about  this  result.  He  wrote  at 
once,  saying  that  by  reason  of  his  brief  residence  in 
the  State  and  limited  acquaintance  with  the  people  any 
assistance  which  he  could  give  would  be  of  necessity 
small  and  almost  valueless,  but  that  he  would  do  his 
utmost.  It  so  happened  that  Mississippi  was  one  of  the 
first  Southern  States  in  which  a  convention  was  held 
for  the  purpose  of  discussing  the  names  of  "Whig  can- 
didates for  the  offices  of  President  and  Yice-President 
of  the  United  States.  The  main  question  before  this 
convention  was  whom  to  nominate  for  President, — the 
question  of  whose  name  to  put  forward  for  Yice-Presi- 
dent not  being  considered  of  much  moment  at  that 
time. 


92        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

This  convention  was  held  at  Jackson,  the  capital  of 
the  State,  twenty-five  miles  away  from  his  plantation. 
As  Thomas  was  not  a  public  speaker,  he  requested  his 
brother  Augustine  to  present  the  name  of  John  Tyler 
to  the  convention  for  this  office. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  convention,  Thomas,  feeling 
some  solicitude,  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  to  Jack- 
son, arriving  there  just  as  the  house  was  on  the  point 
of  going  into  nominations. 

He  asked  at  once,  "  What  are  the  chances  for  John 
Tyler?" 

Augustine  replied,  "  I  have  not  done  anything  in 
that  matter,  and  fear  that  it  is  now  too  late."  After 
a  moment's  reflection  he  cried  out,  "  ~No,  it  is  not  too 
late ;  let  us  speak  to  Sharkey,  Poindexter,  Chilton, — 
any  of  these  gentlemen  will  second  the  nomination." 
So  the  brothers  made  their  way  to  the  seats  of  these 
gentlemen,  and  advocated  the  claims  of  their  Virginia 
friend.  His  name  was  accordingly  introduced  in  due 
form,  but  in  the  midst  of  the  proceeding  a  voice 
called  out,  "  John  Tyler  won't  do.  Who  vouches  for 
him?"  Governor  Sharkey  at  once  replied,  "Colonel 
Dabney  does,  and  that's  sufficient."  Without  further 
question  or  discussion  the  balloting  began,  and  he  re- 
ceived the  nomination.  And  the  State  of  Arkansas, 
holding  her  convention  a  few  weeks  thereafter,  gave 
her  votes  to  him  whom  Mississippi  had  endorsed. 
When  the  general  convention  of  the  party  was  held  in 
St.  Louis,  it  was  discovered  that  John  Tyler  was  the 
only  candidate  for  the  vice-presidency  who  had  in  ad- 
vance any  following;  and  when  his  own  State  came 
to  his  aid  he  was  nominated  without  any  serious  oppo- 
sition. 

When,  on  President  Harrison's  death,  Mr.  Tyler  be- 
came the  chief  executive  of  the  United  States  many 
office-seekers  put  in  their  claims.  Among  others  a 
Mississippi  name  was  sent  up.  "  .Not  a  single  appoint- 
ment for  Mississippi  until  Colonel  Dabney  is  heard 
from,"  was  the  President's  answer.  But,  as  is  well 
known,  Mr.  Tyler  did  not  long  adhere  to  the  principles 
of  the  Whig  party.     The  mortification  to  Thomas  Dab- 


STILL   WATERS  AND    GREEN  PASTURES.        93 

ney  was  excessive.  He  felt  almost  as  if  he  were  him- 
self compromised,  and  his  feeling  against  John  Tyler 
became  bitter.  He  refused  to  answer  any  letters  or 
messages  from  him.  Once  during  Mr.  Tyler's  term  of 
office  he  went  to  Washington,  intending  to  spend 
several  days  there.  Mr.  Tyler's  son  happened  to  be  at 
the  station,  and  recognized  him  as  he  was  getting  off 
the  train.  He  seemed  unconscious  of  the  existing 
state  of  feeling,  and  was  for  taking  Thomas  at  once 
with  his  luggage  to  the  White  House.  Thomas  could 
not  explain  to  the  affectionate  young  fellow,  and  left 
Washington  on  the  next  train,  as  he  saw  no  other  way 
out  of  the  embarrassing  situation. 

Many  years  after  this  the  ex-President,  John  Tyler, 
wept  as  he  spoke  of  the  loss  of  the  friendship  of  Thomas 
Dabney,  and  tried  to  bring  about  a  renewal  of  inter- 
course. They  had  not  only  been  friends  but  were  allied 
by  marriage,  as  Thomas's  first  wife  was  a  cousin  of  Mr. 
Tyler's.  He  wrote  to  beg  that  their  children  might 
visit  each  other,  and  invited  the  Mississippi  family  to 
come  to  Virginia  to  see  his.  But  the  subject  was  yet 
too  sore  with  Thomas.  He  could  never  mention  Mr. 
Tyler's  name  without  emotion. 

As  time  went  on  comforts  and  conveniences  grew  up 
around  the  families  in  the  new  country.  But  it  was  at 
times  difficult  to  provide  for  so  many.  In  June,  1837, 
Mr.  Hill  wrote  to  a  sister  in  Virginia,  "  There  is  a  great 
scarcity  of  provisions  in  this  part  of  the  State.  Corn- 
nieal  is  worth  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  a  bushel, 
and  flour  seventeen  dollars  a  barrel." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hill  had  chosen  Baymond  as  their 
home.  This  little  village  was  situated  on  an  elevated 
ridge,  and  had  been  noted  for  its  healthfulness.  Several 
other  Virginia  families  who  moved  to  the  far  South  at 
this  time  decided  on  making  their  homes  in  Baymond. 
They  formed  an  agreeable  and  cultivated  society. 

In  the  autumn  of  1838  (November  4)  Sophia's  first 
daughter  was  born.  She  was  joyfully  named  Sarah  by 
her  father.  About  a  year  later  Sophia  wrote  to  her 
aunt  in  Virginia,  "  Little  S.  begins  to  step  about." 

In  1839,  Mr.  Charles  Hill  died.    He  was  on  his  way  to 


94        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

visit  Yirginia,  and  had  not  gotten  beyond  the  bounds  of 
his  adopted  State  when  the  fatal  illness  seized  him.  It 
was  his  request  that  no  mourning  should  be  worn  for 
him,  and  no  stone  set  up  to  mark  his  last  resting-place. 
His  family  respected  his  wishes,  and  he  lies  in  an  un- 
marked grave  in  Holmes  County,  Mississippi. 

The  following  are  the  last  lines  written  in  his  journal 
before  his  death.  They  were  penned  on  this  journey: 
"  When  will  men  agree  to  differ, — to  allow  each  other 
perfect  freedom  of  conscience?  Not  until  they  love 
each  other  and  become  Christians.  Not  until  they  set 
no  value  upon  worldly  distinction .  but  as  a  means  of 
doing  good  and  making  others  good,  and  therefore 
happy.  Not  until  they  act  upon  the  truth  that  the 
least  in  the  kingdom  of  God  is  greater  than  George 
Washington  on  earth  in  all  his  glory." 

Those  who  knew  him  said  that  he  lived  up  to  these 
high  views  of  the  responsibilities  of  life.  He  was  stern 
with  his  children,  who  were  a  good  deal  afraid  of  him. 
He  threw  a  handsome  doll  in  the  fire  that  Sophia  and 
Emmeline  were  disputing  over.  Sophia  said  it  had  the 
desired  effect,  as  she  never  again  said  an  unkind  word 
to  her  sister. 

When  a  very  young  man  he  had  met  his  future  wife, 
when  she  was  a  girl  of  only  fifteen  years  old,  and  had 
lost  his  heart  with  her.  We  children  delighted  in  mak- 
ing her  give  an  account  of  the  courtship.  It  took  place 
as  she  was  walking  home  from  school  with  her  books 
on  her  ai'm.  It  was,  like  everything  about  him,  direct. 
"  Miss  Susan,  give  me  your  hand."  The  answer  to  this 
was  that  the  little  girl  frankly  placed  her  hand  in  his. 
He  saw  that  she  was  unconscious  of  his  meaning.  "And 
your  heart  too,"  he  added.  This  time  she  understood, 
and  the  hand  was  not  withdrawn.  Her  mother  had 
died  when  she  was  but  two  hours  old,  and  her  home 
with  a  step-mother  was  an  unhappy  one.  This  woman, 
in  her  father's  absence,  would  take  her  by  her  long 
hair  and  throw  her  out  of  the  house,  and  the  little  step- 
brother was  set  above  her  in  every  way.  The  harsh 
treatment  brought  out  the  patience  and  gentleness  that 
endeared  her  to  all  who  knew  her  in  after-life.     The 


STILL   WATERS  AND    GREEN  PASTURES.        95 

step-mother  herself  became  attached  to  her,  and  at  her 
death  divided  her  property  equally  between  her  own 
boy  and  her  step-daughter. 

In  the  summer  of  1840  the  second  daughter,  Susan, 
was  born  to  Sophia.  She  was  welcomed  as  a  companion 
to  Sarah,  and  a  month  after  her  birth,  which  took  place 
in  Eaymond,  she  was  taken  to  the  plantation  on  a 
pillow.  "  May  she  be  a  blessing  to  all  who  love  her," 
her  grandmamma  Macon  wrote.  In  the  winter  of  1SI2 
the  third  daughter  was  born,  and  was  called  Sophia, 
after  her  mother,  who  had  gotten  her  name  from  Gold- 
smith's charming  heroine.  The  next  child,  Benjamin, 
lived  only  eight  days.  In  the  autumn  of  1815  Sophia 
gave  birth  to  her  eleventh  child,  Emmeline. 

Our  grandmother  Hill's  youngest  daughter  had  mar- 
ried soon  after  her  father's  death,  and  the  widowed 
mother  in  a  few  years  resolved  on  giving  up  her 
home  in  Raymond.  After  several  changes  she  fixed 
on  the  house  of  her  favorite  son-in-law,  Thomas,  as  her 
home.  The  large  number  of  young  children  made  the 
house  too  noisy  for  her  delicate  nerves.  Thomas,  ever 
solicitous  to  be  a  true  son  to  her,  built  a  cottage  for 
her  after  her  own  plan.  It  was  placed  near  the  house, 
and  contained  two  large  rooms  and  spacious  closets. 

The  years  spent  by  this  dear  grandmother  in  the 
midst  of  the  Burleigh  household  were  among  the  hap- 
piest of  our  lives.  She  was  lovely  to  look  upon  in  her 
lace-frilled  cap,  and  with  her  reticule  on  her  arm. 
Each  child  looked  on  her  as  his  or  her  special  friend, 
and  she  was  never  tired  of  trying  to  make  everybody 
about  her  good  and  happy.  She  was  too  delicate  to 
walk  much.  But  she  had  beautiful  taste,  and  seemed 
to  make  everything  prettier  about  the  place.  Under 
her  care  many  fine  roses,  tulips,  hyacinths,  and  other 
flowers  flourished  in  the  Burleigh  garden.  During 
the  last  years  of  her  life  she  lay  on  a  lounge,  with  her 
JSTew  Testament  and  Jay's  "  Morning  and  Evening  Ex- 
ercises" within  reach  of  her  hand.  Other  books,  too, 
were  near,  and  she  spent  much  time  in  reading.  Her 
room  became  the  sitting-room  of  the  family,  she  was  so 
bright  and  sunny-hearted,  and  always  so  ready  to  be 


96        MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

interested  in  everything.  Over  all  there  was  a  halo 
as  of  a  spirit  at  peace  with  God  and  man.  A  few 
months  before  her  death,  which  did  not  take  place  till 
May,  1854,  a  sorrow  came  that  would  have  been  a 
heavy  affliction  at  another  time  in  her  life.  She  said 
that  she  had  no  tears  to  shed,  because  she  felt  so  near 
the  other  world,  where  the  loved  one  had  gone.  Her 
last  few  months  were  sad.  A  depression  seized  her 
that  could  not  be  shaken  off.  She  bore  it  with  her 
usual  patience,  seeing  a  Merciful  Hand  in  all  that  was 
sent,  yet  begging  her  Heavenly  Father  to  shorten  the 
days.  The  gloom  was  not  lifted.  She  passed  away  in 
much  suffering,  leaving  the  memory  of  a  spotless  life. 
It  was  said  of  her  that  she  never  knew  any  scandal. 
Her  neighbors  in  Raymond  could  not  look  at  her  and 
tell  her  stories  that  all  knew  but  her.  The  thought  of 
evil  to  that  white  soul  was  like  a  physical  pain.  She 
could  not  bear  to  hear  any  one  spoken  against,  and  was 
ever  ready  to  plead  the  extenuating  circumstances  that 
her  eyes  could  see  in  each  case,  however  black  it  might 
look  to  others.  The  first  word  that  she  taught  her 
favorite  grandson  to  spell  was  "good."  She  was  an 
accomplished  needle-woman,  and  so  industrious  that 
she  did  not  like  to  be  idle,  even  while  sick.  Mr.  Hill 
forbade  her  sewing,  and  when  she  heard  his  step  she 
hid  her  work  behind  her  in  her  large  chair.  She  gave 
away  everything.  With  all  her  love  for  the  beautiful, 
she  seemed  to  have  no  desire  to  own  anything  that 
could  give  pleasure  to  another.  When  she  died,  as  has 
been  said  of  another  lovely  Christian  character,  her 
things  were  "  touching  in  their  fewness." 

At  the  time  that  she  decided  on  giving  up  her  home 
in  Raymond  she  divided  not  only  all  her  household 
effects,  but  her  property  of  all  kinds,  among  her  three 
daughters.  Thomas  was  much  opposed  to  this  arrange- 
ment and  endeavored  in  vain  to  dissuade  her.  She 
would  need  money,  however,  to  buy  her  clothes,  and  said 
that  each  daughter  should  hand  to  her  an  annual  sum 
for  this  purpose.  The  amount  named  by  her  was  small. 
Thomas  tried  to  make  her  double  it,  but  she  was  firm, 
and  would  receive  nothing  beyond  the  sum  first  asked 


STILL   WATERS  AND   GREEN  PASTURES.        97 

for.  A  large  proportion  of  this  was  spent  each  year  in 
presents  to  the  servants  and  to  other  needy  persons. 
She  was  at  heart  an  emancipationist,  whether  from 
sympathy  with  the  colored  race  or  with  their  owners  I 
do  not  know.* 

In  1845,  Thomas  decided  to  look  for  a  summer  home 
for  his  family  somewhere  on  the  shores  of  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico.  He  heard  much  of  the  beauty  and  salubrity 
of  Pass  Christian,  and  of  the  delightful  society  to  be 
met  there.  He  visited  the  line  of  Gulf  coast,  and  re- 
solved on  buying  a  place  at  the  Pass.  He  got  a  very 
simple  but  airy  and  cool  house,  situated  in  a  grove  of 
shade-trees  looking  directly  on  the  shining  beach  and 
the  blue  waters  of  the  Gulf. 

The  little  village  of  Pass  Christian,  situated  about 
midway  between  New  Orleans  and  Mobile  on  the  Mis- 
sissippi Sound  (as  that  part  of  the  Mexican  Gulf  is 
called),  is  a  place  of  extreme  beauty.  The  houses,  em- 
bosomed in  the  shade  of  live-oak,  magnolia,  and  other 
beautiful  trees,  were  dotted  along  the  beach  for  four 
miles.  The  residents  or  sojourners  were,  in  the  main, 
people  of  culture  and  wealth, — either  citizens  of  New 
Orleans  or  planters  of  Mississippi  and  Louisiana,  who 
came  there  to  spend  the  summer  months.  Almost  di- 
rectly out  to  sea  lies  Cat  Island,  some  ten  or  twelve 
miles  away,  the  most  western  of  a  chain  of  islands 
which  run  parallel  with  this  coast,  protecting  it  from 
frequent  and  sudden  storms  which  vex  the  waters  of 
the  open  Gulf.  Inside  of  this  natural  barrier  the  water 
is  generally  shallow,  and  the  deeper  parts  or  channels 
are  called  "  passes,"  hence  the  name  Pass  Christian. 
Eight  miles  out  from  the  shore  is  another  pass  called 
Pass  Marian;  and  there,  in  place  of  a  light-house,  an 
old  iron  ship  was  anchored.  On  board  this  ship  lived 
the  light-keeper  with  his  wife  and  one  child,  a  daughter. 
I  remember  that  our  hearts  were  stirred  with  conipas- 


*  A  few  Sundays  ago  one  of  her  old  neighbors  laid  upon  the  altar  of 
the  parish  church  in  Raymond  a  memorial  of  Susan  Fitzhugh  Hill, — a 
handful  of  the  fragrant  white  star  jasmine.  It  grew  in  her  garden  on  a 
bush  that  her  hand  had  tended  fifty  years  ago. 

E         9  9 


98       MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

sion  for  this  little  family,  thinking  that  their  lot  was 
very  dreary. 

Many  gentlemen  at  Pass  Christian  owned  fast-sailing 
yachts,  and  during  the  season  fortnightly  regattas  were 
held,  in  which  the  entire  population  felt  deeply  in- 
terested, as  almost  every  one  owning  a  yacht  entered 
it  for  the  race.  Thomas  was  the  first  president  of  the 
yacht  club,  and  was,  I  believe,  annually  re-elected  as 
long  as  he  lived  at  Pass  Christian. 

SOPHIA   TO    THOMAS   DABNET. 

"  Pass  Christian,  July  30,  1847. 

...  "  I  have  another  great  comfort  to  add.  The  ser- 
vants I  have  brought  with  me  have  behaved  remarka- 
bly well.  I  never  have  to  remind  them  of  their  duties. 
They  all  seem  to  anticipate  my  wants.  I  always 
thought  I  valued  my  servants  very  highly,  but  I  never 
valued  them  enough.  They  all  act  towards  me  as  they 
did  when  you  were  sick.  They  add  much  to  my  en- 
joyment. It  does  not  take  much  to  trouble  me  when 
you  are  absent.  ...  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  see 
Charley,  but  tell  him  that  I  am  very  happy  in  thinking 
about  his  coming  next  summer.  Tell  Yirginius  and 
Sarah  not  to  forget  me.     I  know  Charley  will  not." 

Thomas  was  in  Yirginia  on  a  visit  to  his  mother. 
He  had  taken,  as  usual,  some  of  her  grandchildren  to 
"  show  to  her." 

It  was  a  shock  and  grief  to  Thomas  when  the  State 
of  Mississippi  repudiated  her  debts.  He  worked  against 
repudiation  with  all  his  energy.  When  he  found  his 
efforts  in  that  direction  useless,  it  occurred  to  him  that 
the  honor  of  the  State  that  was  the  birthplace  of  his 
children  could  yet  be  saved  by  private  subscription. 
He  offered  to  head  the  list  by  giving  ten  thousand 
dollars.  It  would  have  ruined  him,  for  he  was  just 
beginning  to  get  his  plantation  in  order.  He  still  lived 
in  the  old  log  house  with  the  leaky  roof.  But,  with 
heroic  improvidence,  he  refused  to  consider  personal 
consequences.  His  efforts  were  fruitless.  He  could 
not  rouse  the  people  in  his  State  to  join  him  in  a  plan 
that  they  looked  on  as  a  costly  piece  of  quixotism. 


STILL   WATERS  AND    GREEN  PASTURES.        99 

In  one  of  these  years  Chancellor  Tyler's  estate  was 
settled  up.  By  the  laws  of  Virginia  Thomas  came  in 
as  one  of  the  heirs.  He  wrote  to  his  brother-in-law, 
Mr.  Whittle,  that  he  declined  to  receive  his  share  of 
the  inheritance.  In  reply,  Mr.  Whittle  suggested  that 
he  probably  was  not  aware  of  the  amount  that  he  was 
refusing, — about  ten  thousand  dollars.  But  Thomas  re- 
quested that  this  might  be  divided  equally  among  the 
sisters  of  his  deceased  wife.  Sophia  also  declined  to 
receive  a  small  legacy  (about  three  hundred  dollars) 
which  came  to  her  from  a  maiden  aunt.  At  her  request 
it  was  given  to  one  of  the  other  heirs,  a  cousin  who 
was  not  prosperous. 

Thomas  always  maintained  that  no  preparation  could 
help  him  to  bear  a  trial,  and  that  it  was  no  true  kind- 
ness to  make  concealment ;  and  he  made  none  in  his 
intercourse  with  those  with  whom  he  was  thrown.  He 
said  that  if  he  were  condemned  to  be  hanged,  he  should 
not  wish  a  reprieve.  A  characteristic  incident  took 
place  when  he  went  with  a  young  girl,  the  only  daugh- 
ter of  Emmeline  Smith,  to  have  an  operation  performed 
on  her  eye.  The  oculist  told  her  that  it  would  give  her 
no  pain  at  all,  and  begged  her  to  quiet  herself.  But 
she  got  into  floods  of  tears,  and  had  no  courage  to  sub- 
mit to  the  operation.  In  her  distress  she  turned  to 
Thomas, — 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Dabney,  will  it  hurt  very  much  ?" 
"Yes,  my  child,"  he  said,  "like  the  very  devil." 
The  girl  knew  that  he  had  told  her  the  truth,  and  it 
braced  her  nerves  for  the  pain.     Putting  her  two  hands 
in  his,  she  asked  him  to  hold  them,  and  she  submitted 
to  the  oculist  without  any  moi'e  remonstrance. 

In  the  early  spring  of  this  year  (1847)  a  sad  change 
came  for  the  neighborhood.  Mrs.  Lewis  Smith,  while 
superintending  the  planting  of  a  large  garden  for  the 
plantation  negroes,  stood  too  long  on  the  damp  ground 
and  took  a  cold  which  soon  developed  into  pneumonia. 
The  disease  terminated  fatally  after  a  short  illness. 
Our  mother  said  of  her  that  she  was  the  best  mistress 
whom  she  had  ever  known.  She  would  add,  in  her 
humility,  that  she  was  a  much  better  woman  than  she 


100     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

was.  Our  dear  mother  said  that  of  many  people.  The 
loss  of  Mrs.  Smith  was  much  felt,  and  led  to  another 
scarcely  less.  Mr.  Smith  was  so  wi'etched  at  her  death 
that  he  could  not  be  roused,  and  he  died  in  a  few  months 
of  a  broken  heart.  The  two  children,  Campbell  and 
Olivia,  were  committed  to  the  guardianship  of  Thomas. 
When  Mr.  Smith  felt  himself  dying,  he  asked  Thomas 
to  promise  never  to  give  up  his  son  Campbell.  Not 
even  to  a  dying  man,  and  one  to  whom  he  was  tenderly 
attached,  would  Thomas  make  that  promise.  He  told 
him  that  he  could  not  make  a  promise  that  he  might 
have  to  break,  but  he  would  do  all  that  he  could  for  the 
boy.  After  the  funeral  he  took  him  home  to  Burleigh. 
From  there  he  was  sent  in  a  few  months,  in  accordance 
with  Mr.  Smith's  expressed  wishes,  to  school  in  Vir- 
ginia. 

In  1849,  Thomas  wrote  to  his  ward,  H.  Campbell 
Smith : 

..."  I  hope  you  are  making  good  progress  in  your 
studies ;  for,  if  you  flinch  now,  you  can  never  make  it 
up.  Apply  yourself  to  the  extent  of  your  powers,  so 
that  you  may  be  well  prepared  to  enter  the  university 
next  October.  I  entertain  no  doubt  about  your  com- 
petency to  achieve  it  if  you  will  but  determine  upon 
it.  Do  it,  then,  and  it  will  be  a  source  of  gratification 
to  you  to  the  end  of  your  life ;  but  if  you  permit  any 
circumstance  to  divert  you  from  it,  you  will  never  for- 
give yourself." 

Sophia  to  her  aunt,  March  7,  1847 :  "  Our  house  will 
ever  be  a  home  to  Olivia  if  she  will  be  willing  to  come 
and  live  with  me  after  she  has  completed  her  educa- 
tion. It  will  afford  me  great  pleasure  to  have  her  with 
me  as  my  own." 

Olivia  lived  at  Burleigh  up  to  her  marriage,  and  was 
ever  an  affectionate  daughter  of  the  house. 

The  home  at  Midway  was  broken  up.  The  family 
at  Burleigh  turned  more  than  ever  to  the  Eaymond 
Dabneys.  ■ 


MANAGEMENT  OF  SERVANTS.  101 

CHAPTER  Yin. 

MANAGEMENT   OF   SERVANTS. 

The  house-servants  were  never  required  to  sit  up 
later  than  ten,  and  only  the  cook  and  dining-room  ser- 
vants were  detained  till  then.  "No  grown  servant  slept 
in  the  house.  Sixteen  living  children — nine  sons  and 
seven  daughters — were  born  to  Thomas  and  Sophia 
Dabney,  and,  though  she  was  not  strong,  she  managed 
to  take  care  of  her  babies  at  night  unassisted.  Two 
young  negro  girls  slept  in  the  house,  but  were  rarely 
disturbed.  One  of  these  girls,  now  a  married  woman 
with  gi-eat  girls  of  her  own,  relates  to  me  a  touching 
instance  of  the  kindly  simplicity  of  the  sweet  mistress: 
"I  asked  missis  to  button  my  dress  for  me  one  mornin'. 
I  didn't  know  no  better.  An'  missis  buttoned  it  up  for 
me." 

A  little  incident  will  throw  some  light  on  the  life  of 
the  mother  who  during  thirty  years  was  never  with- 
out an  infant  in  her  arms.  One  night  one  of  the  little 
girls  had  a  dream  that  frightened  her,  and  ran  to  her 
mother's  bed  to  wake  her  up.  "Let  us  light  the  candle 
and  play  with  your  doll-babies,"  mamma  said;  and  the 
two  crouched  down  by  the  corner  where  the  dolls  slept, 
and  planned  over  them  and  dressed  them  until  the 
child  was  willing  to  go  back  to  her  own  bed,  the  dream 
quite  forgotten.  There  were  several  children  in  the 
nursery  younger  than  this  one  at  the  time. 

She  did  not  allow  the  maids  to  be  kept  up  at  night 
to  undress  her  daughters  or  to  be  called  on  to  do  many 
things  that  the  body-servants  in  other  households  were 
expected  to  do.  "  They  are  not  machines,"  she  said  to 
her  children;  "they  are  just  like  you,  made  of  the  same 
flesh  and  blood."  When  one  of  the  children,  old  enough 
to  dress  herself,  held  out  her  foot  to  have  the  shoe  and 
stocking  taken  off,  she  said,  "  Do  it  yourself.  You  are 
just  as  able  to  do  it  as  Milly  is." 

9* 


102     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

She  also  impressed  lessons  of  industry  and  economy 
on  her  children.  She  could  not  expect,  she  said,  that 
they  would  always  be  as  well  off  as  they  were  then,  and 
she  did  not  know  which  one  might  be  destined  for 
poverty.  Wastefulness  was  a  sin,  she  said,  apart  from 
the  bad  habits  that  come  in  its  train.  She  impressed 
these  lessons  the  more  earnestly  as  the  father  was  in- 
clined to  be  extravagant. 

In  cases  of  sickness  where  nursing  at  night  was  re- 
quired she  sent  those  servants  who  performed  this  part 
to  bed  the  next  morning.  The  parents  themselves  did 
most  of  the  nursing.  During  the  fifty  years  that 
Thomas  spent  in  Mississippi  he  was  very  ill  only  once, 
and  the  kindness  and  devotion  of  his  negroes — "  his 
people,"  as  they  still  call  themselves,  though  they  have 
been  free  twenty-one  years — were  often  in  after-life 
referred  to.  He  could  not  bear  a  sound.  As  the  house 
could  not  be  kept  quiet  with  so  many  young  children 
about,  the  nursery  was  moved  to  Mammy  Harriet's. 
Here  we  spent  three  weeks.  We  were  too  young  to 
feel  the  anxiety  of  the  time.  We  thought  it  no  end  of 
fun  to  keep  house  with  mammy,  and  to  play  with  her 
black  cat  that  knew  how  to  shake  hands,  and  to  hear 
her  boy  Ike  ask  riddles  at  night  when  he  came  home 
out  of  the  fields.  Our  nurses  were  so  wisely  chosen 
that  we  never  heard  a  ghost-story  from  one  of  them 
during  the  whole  course  of  our  childhood,  nor  anything 
else  that  the  most  careful  parents  could  object  to. 

Thomas  had  quite  an  amusing  experience  when  he 
attempted  to  set  two  of  his  servants  free.  A  man  who 
had  been  very  lazy  and  unreliable  in  every  way  all  his 
life,*  asked  the  master  one  day  to  let  him  hire  his  time 
from  him  and  live  in  Eaymond.  He  thought  that  he 
could  make  a  great  deal  of  money  in  Raymond,  black- 
ing gentlemen's  boots  and  waiting  on  them. 

Uncle  Abel's  feet  were  so  large  and  set  at  such 
an  angle  as  to  be  damaging  to  the  crops  as  he  walked 
between  the  rows,  and  for  that   reason   ho  was  not 


*  This  man  had  been  sold  by  his  former  master  for  half  a  dollar,  and 
had  come  into  Thomas's  possession  through  a  mistake. 


MANAGEMENT  OF  SERVANTS.  103 

allowed  to  work  in  the  fields.  His  sole  business  was  to 
ride  over  the  plantation,  calling  up  the  hogs  and  feed- 
ing: them.  He  liked  to  hold  gentlemen's  horses  at  the 
gate,  too,  after  a  hostler  bad  saddled  them,  but  this 
was  a  voluntary  addition  to  his  duties. 

The  master's  answer  to  Uncle  Abel's  proposition  was 
that  he  should  charge  him  nothing  for  his  time;  on  the 
contrary,  he  would  present  him  with  twenty-five  dollars 
and  set  him  free  for  life.  He  added  the  stipulation, 
however,  that  Uncle  Abel  should  never  return  to  him. 
Uncle  Abel  made  no  reply,  but  nothing  more  was  ever 
heard  of  his  desire  to  make  a  fortune.  The  woman 
who  had  charge  of  the  Pass  Christian  house  also  was 
opposed  to  plantation  life,  and  did  not  wish  to  return  to 
it  when  the  master  sold  the  summer  place.  She  had 
been  born  on  the  water,  she  said,  and  she  wanted  to 
die  on  it,  and  asked  to  be  allowed  to  live  at  the  Pass 
and  support  herself  by  selling  chickens  and  eggs.  The 
master  consented  at  once,  and  told  her  that  he  should 
give  her  twenty-five  dollars  as  a  start  in  life,  but  she 
must  first  promise  not  to  return  to  him  when  she  had 
grown  tired  of  working  for  herself.  Her  answer  to 
this  proposition  was  to  pack  up  her  things  in  all  haste 
to  return  with  him  to  the  plantation,  and  she  was 
quite  in  a  tremor  lest  the  master  should  desire  to  set 
her  free  against  her  will. 

Thomas  sold  butjpjrrjiegroes.  One  of  these  was  a 
viol'ent- amT"  bad"  woman",  wKo7~after  many  attempts, 
succeeded  one  day  in  stabbing  her  husband  to  death. 
She  was  tried  for  her  life,  and  would  have  been  hung 
if  her  master  had  made  any  attempt  to  save  her.  He 
thought  she  ought  to  suffer  the  penalty  of  the  law  and 
made  no  move  in  her  defence,  and  this  conduct  influ- 
enced the  jury  to  bring  in  a  verdict  of  manslaughter 
in  self-defence,  and  she  was  acquitted.  But  he  would 
not  keep  a  murderess  on  his  plantation,  and  she  was 
sold.  A  kind  man  bought  her,  knowing  her  history. 
Another  case  was  that  of  a  man  who  attempted  to  kill 
the  overseer.  He  was  the  son  of  our  beloved  nurse, 
Mammy  Harriet, — Ike,  who  knew  so  many  delightful 
riddles;  and  it  was  a  sad  day  in  the  master's  house 


104      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

.when  it  was  known  that  one  of  that  family  was  to 
V  stand  a  trial  for  his  life.  As  in  the  former  case,  no 
counsel  was  employed  by  the  master  to  save  his  prop- 
erty, and,  as  in  that  case,  Ike  was  acquitted.  He  was 
sold,  and  we  never  saw  him  again.  A  third  case  was 
/that  of  a  girl  who  was  so  thievish  that  the  plantation 
~"^  negroes  petitioned  the  master  to  sell  her.  Nothing 
was  safe  in  their  houses  if  they  were  left  open.  They 
were  afraid  to  leave  their  hampers  in  the  field  lest  In- 
dian Mary,  as  she  was  called  on  account  of  her  straight 
black  hair,  should  rob  them.  Instead  of  picking  cotton 
herself  she  went  from  hamper  to  hamper  filling  her 
bag.  As  the  negroes  were  paid  for  picking  cotton  this 
was  no  light  grievance,  and  finally  got  to  be  unbear- 
able and  led  to  the  above  result.  So  Mary  was  told 
that  she  must  choose  a  good  master  for  herself.  She 
chose  a  man  who  lived  alone  and  had  no  other  servant. 
There  was  no  chance  of  stealing,  for  she  was  welcome, 
the  man  said,  to  everything  in  his  little  cabin.  For 
years  she  came  over  on  Sundays  to  her  old  home  to  tell 
how  well  she  was  getting  on.  One  of  the  little  girls 
in  the  house  was  much  attached  to  her,  and  learned  to 
knit  that  she  might  knit  a  pair  of  stockings  for  Mary's 
bab}T,  and  begged  for  pudding  that  she  might  send  it 
to  the  old  favorite. 

The  last  case  was  that  of  a  woman  who  had  no  fam- 
ily ties  on  the  place  that  she  cared  for,  and  desired  to 
be  sold  to  a  man  who  owned  no  other  negroes.  She 
also  came  over  on  Sundays  to  visit  her  friends  both  in 
the  house  and  in  the  quarters. 

Thx>mas  disapproved  of  hiring  out  servants ;  it  broke 
up^families7llij$Jii.  At  times  he  mrearouTone~6r  two 
mechanics.  He  hired  a  young  blacksmith  to  a  good 
master  in  Raymond  for  some  years,  the  man  being  very 
happy  there.  The  price  that  was  paid  for  him  was 
five  hundred  dollars  a  year.  Another  man  offered  six 
hundred  dollars,  but  Thomas  refused  it,  saying  that  he 
did  not  wish  his  young  servant  to  work  hard  enough 
to  be  worth  six  hundred  dollars  to  his  employer. 

One  of  his  visits  to  his  mother  at  her  Mount  Pros- 
pect home  was  made  at  Christmas.      A  company  of 


MANAGEMENT  OF  SERVANTS.  105 

gentlemen  spent  the  holiday  week  there  on  the  same 
occasion.  As  they  were  all  going  away,  Thomas,  who 
was  about  to  mount  his  hoi'se  also,  said  to  them, 
"  Gentlemen,  there  is  one  person  who  has  contributed 
much  to  our  enjoyment.  I  mean  the  cook.  Let  us 
not  foi'get  her.  Here  is  my  five-dollar  gold-piece  for 
her."  In  a  minute  every  hand  held  out  a  five-dollar 
gold-piece,  and  twenty-five  dollars  were  sent  to  the 
kitchen  to  the  cook. 

Sophia  Dabney  was  once  sent  for  to  spend  a  day  or 
two  with  her  sister,  Mrs.  Moncure,  who  was  ill  and 
needed  her  care.  When  she  came  home  she  said  that 
Mrs.  Moncure  was  a  better  mistress  than  she  was.  She 
spoke  of  the  attachment  of  the  servants  for  her  sister, 
and  their  anxious  inquiries  at  the  house  of  her  condi- 
tion. When  breakfast  and  tea  were  over,  she  had  been 
surprised  at  the  line  of  cups  and  plates  that  had  been 
placed  for  her  to  fill  in  the  absence  of  the  sick  mistress 
from  the  table.  In  Sophia's  housekeeping  she  had  not 
attempted  to  give  any  meal  but  dinner  from  her  table. 
In  her  humility  she  forgot  that  her  establishment,  both 
of  white  and  black,  made  it  impossible  to  carry  out 
the  regulations  that  could  be  practised  in  a  smaller 
family. 

Mrs.  Moncure  had  inherited  a  number  of  negroes 
from  her  father's  estate.  It  is  recorded  of  her  that  she 
never  allowed  any  of  these  servants  to  be  punished  for 
any  offence  whatever.  "  They  are  mine"  was  the  man- 
tle of  protection  that  she  threw  over  them  and  their 
descendants.  Mrs.  Moncure  had  inherited  the  old  fam- 
ily nurse,  Mammy  Mary,  to  whom  she  and  my  mother 
were  greatly  attached.  She  was  one  of  the  most  ex- 
alted Christians  whom  I  have  ever  met.  When  some 
one  asked  if  she,  in  her  long  years  of  confinement  to 
her  own  cabin  in  her  old  age,  preferred  bright  weather 
to  rainy  days,  her  answer  was,  "I  am  thankful  for 
whatever  the  Father  sends." 

My  mother  took  her  an  annual  present,  and  the  old 
nurse  sent  freely  to  her  for  anything  that  she  needed. 
As  long  as  the  old  woman  was  able  to  move  about  she 
was  a  regular  visitor  at  Burleigh,  coming  in  the  car- 


106     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

riage  with  Mrs.  Moncure  when  she  spent  the  day  with 
her  sister.  "When  Mammy  Mary  grew  too  feeble  to  go 
put  she  expected  to  be  daily  visited  by  Mrs.  Moncure 
and  her  children,  and  by  all  the  family  connections 
who  visited  her  mistress.  She  was  a  devout  member 
of  the  Baptist  Church,  and  attended  it  in  Mrs.  Mon- 
cure's  carriage.  For  years  her  trim,  neat  figure,  her 
snowy  cap,  and  rapt  face  was  a  familiar  picture  to 
the  congregation  as  she  sat  on  the  steps  of  the  pulpit, 
a  seat  allowed  her  on  account  of  her  deafness.  The 
church  was  built  for  the  white  people  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, but  a  large  number  of  benches  were  set  apart  for 
the  negroes.  They  were  well  filled  on  "meeting-days." 
The  man  who  took  up  the  collection  handed  the  plate 
to  the  slaves  as  well  as  to  the  masters,  and  our  G-eorge 
Page,  among  others,  did  not  fail  to  put  in  his  contribu- 
tion. George  was  able  to  do  this.  He  has  lately  said 
that  he  received  as  much  as  fifty  dollars  a  year  from 
visitors  to  his  master's  house. 

Thomas  was  an  accurate  shot  with  a  rifle,  and  was 
successful  as  a  huntsman.  He  was  devoted  to  both 
hunting  and  fishing.  The  deer,  which  abounded  on  the 
plantation  when  he  bought  it,  grew  fewer  and  fewer  as 
year  by  year  they  were  hunted  and  killed.  In  the 
neighboring  county  of  Scott  they  still  roamed  in  great 
numbers.  The  lands  were  lying  out,  and  free  to  any 
sportsman  who  cai*ed  to  shoot  the  deer.  Thomas  and 
some  of  his  neighbors  organized  a  hunting  club  to  go 
each  autumn  to  enjoy  the  Scott  County  hunting- 
grounds.  For  eight  years  they  spent  two  weeks  of 
every  November  over  there.  Thomas  took  along,  be- 
sides the  horse  on  which  he  rode,  a  mule  that  he  called 
his  hunting  mule.  "Annie"  was  trained  to  stand  while 
he  fired  from  her  back;  and  when,  in  the  heat  of  pur- 
suit, he  leaped  off  and  left  Annie  with  her  bridle 
hanging  as  it  chanced  to  fall,  the  sagacious  beast  stood 
stock-still  till  her  master  returned  to  the  spot.  He 
attributed  much  of  his  success  in  the  Scott  County 
hunts  to  the  docility  of  this  mule. 

He  had  a  pack  of  hounds  that  were  rarely  used  ex- 
cept on  these  annual  hunts.     A  wagon  with  four  mules 


MANAGEMENT  OF  SERVANTS.  107 

carried  his  servants  and  a  marquee  large  enough  for 
twelve  men,  bed,  camp-chest,  etc.  Provisions  of 
various  sorts  were  stowed  away  in  the  wagon.  This 
camping-out  frolic  was  looked  forward  to  by  the  club 
with  tbe  zest  of  boys.  The  deer  were  killed  in  num- 
bers. Occasionally  a  wild  turkey  would  be  brought 
into  camp,  and  add  variety  to  the  feast. 

The  deer  were  so  abundant  that  the  greater  number 
of  the  huntsmen  did  not  care  to  shoot  at  a  doe  or  a 
fawn.  But  the  excitable  ones  did  not  regard  age  or 
sex.  The  huntsmen  used  to  agree  that  one  of  their 
number,  Mr.  Mount,  saw  branching  antlers  on  every 
deer's  head  that  started  up  before  him,  as  he  rushed 
wildly  in  the  chase. 

Thomas  delighted  in  telling  stories  of  these  hunts. 
They  were  full  of  adventure.  The  gay  huntsmen, 
leaving  all  care  behind,  were  as  full  of  practical  jokes 
as  school-boys.  On  the  breaking  up  of  the  camp  the 
deer  were  divided  out  and  taken  home,  some  of  them 
in  their  skins  and  with  antlers  on. 

Thomas  was  in  the  habit  of  throwing  his  gun  across 
his  saddle-bow  whenever  he  rode  out  into  his  fields, 
with  the  hope  of  getting  a  shot  at  a  deer  or  a  wild  tur- 
key. One  day  a  gobbler  started  up  at  a  distance  of 
about  fifty  yards  in  front  of  him,  and  ran  down  the 
road.  He  fired  and  killed  him,  the  bullet  running  along 
tbe  spine  and  through  the  neck.  Thomas's  eyes  were 
strong  and  far-sighted.  He  could  read  the  name  of  an 
incoming  steamer  at  Pass  Christian  before  any  one  else 
present  could  make  out  the  form  of  a  letter.  His  eyes 
were  not  readily  ftrrgotten  by  a,r\y  one  who  had  ever 
seen  him.  Madame  Desrayaux,  the  head  of  a  French 
"  pension"  in  New  Orleans,  said  that  she  could  not  re- 
call the  face  of  any  of  the  fathers  of  her  young  ladies 
except  Colonel  Dabney's.  Some  of  these  she  saw  every 
year.  She  had  seen  him  but  once,  as  his  daughter  was 
with  her  but  one  winter.  But  she  could  never  forget 
his  eyes. 


108     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 
CHAPTEK  IX. 

A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER'S  WIFE. 

It  has  already  been  said  that  in  1845  Pass  Christian 
was  chosen  as  a  summer  resort  for  the  family.  Eight 
happy  summers  were  spent  there.  Thomas  and  Sophia 
enjoyed  the  good  society,  and  soon  made  warm  friends 
among  the  residents.  It  was  a  sort  of  Paradise  to  the 
children.  Books  and  studies  were  left  behind, — very 
little  was  thought  of  but  bathing  and  crabbing  and 
fishing,  rowing,  sailing,  swimming,  picking  up  shells 
and  "  fiddler-crabs,"  and  trying  to  gather  the  pale  pink 
sand-flowers,  that  withstood  so  much  tossing  from  the 
sea-breezes,  but  fell  in  pieces  with  the  lightest  touch  of 
the  human  hand.  In  the  long  summer  mornings  we 
ran  just  as  wild  as  we  pleased.  In  the  afternoons  we 
must  be  dressed  and  be  civilized.  At  the  Pass  we  took 
our  dancing  lessons.  Our  mother  took  as  maagz  nf  u^a 
oiii^fljnng  aa  The  family  carriage,  reinforced  by  two 
ponies,  could  carry.  One  of  the  children  heard  a  neigh- 
bor say,  as  the  carriage  drove  by  with  the  mother  in 
the  midst  of  the  little  flock,  that  when  Mrs.  Dabney 
went  driving  she  took  the  whole  Dabney  family  with 
her.  The  mother  was  only  amused,  and  filled  her  car- 
riage as  full  as  ever.  When  the  Baroness  Bunsen's 
tenth  child  was  born,  she  felt  that  she  had  never  loved 
a  baby  so  dearly, — her  motherliness  had  increased  with 
each  child  that  came.  It  was  so  in  Sophia's  case.  She 
became  so  accustomed  to  the  noise  of  young  children 
that  she  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  it,  but  missed  it 
painfully  if  separated  from  her  children.  Her  mother- 
linessextended  over  the  whole  plantation.  She  had  a 
speciaT  eve*~Hml^3rrtrto'r  anir-rr^eeEeaT  or  unfortunate 
or  in-treatea_  negro~ch"iT(L  and  would  contrive  tb~  have 
such  ^ases  nearher.  One  deformed,  sickly  girl,  who 
was  of  no  value  in  any  sense,  she  took  to  the  Pass  one 
summer  for  the  benefit  of  the  sea-bathing.  In  the 
Burleigh  household  of  servants  there  was  usually  some 


A   SOUTHERN  PLANTER'S    WIFE.  109 

young  negro  so  hopelessly  dull  that  her  own  mother 
would  not  try  to  teach  her  to  sew  or  to  do  other  useful 
things.  Under  the  sheltering  wing  of  the  mistress  this 
girl  would  be  patiently  taught  to  do  many  things. 
Sophia  was  aware  that  this  was  not  the  way  to  have 
her  household  ordered  in  the  best  style.  She  was  quite 
indifferent  to  the  public  opinion  that  required  only  fine- 
looking,  thoroughly  trained  servants  about  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  gentleman.  Many  of  her  servants  were 
intelligent,  and  filled  their  departments  well,  and  the 
dull  one  was  screened  by  being  kept  in  the  nursery  and 
about  her.  The  objects  of  her  patience  and  kindness 
were  devoted  to  her  and  proud  of  her  favor.  In  many 
instances  they  became  much  better  instructed  than 
would  have  been  thought  possible  by  one  less  conscien- 
tious and  full  of  faith  than  herself. 

She  felt  for  her  house  servants  on  Sundays,  and 
allowed  the  cook  and  dining-room  servants  to  put  sub- 
stitutes in  their  places,  as  they  were  more  confined  than 
the  others.  They  had  pride  in  their  office,  and  in- 
structed the  substitutes  so  successfully  that  very  little 
difference  was  perceived.  But  now  and  then  a  ludicrous 
mistake  was  made  in  the  table  attendance.  One  day 
Sophia  asked  one  of  these  substitutes  to  give  her  a 
potato.  A  hand  was  promptly  thrust  across  the  table 
over  the  heads  of  the  children,  the  potato  seized,  and 
then,  without  a  misgiving,  deposited  on  the  plate  of  the 
mistress  at  the  head  of  the  table.  She  gave  no  sign  of 
disapproval,  receiving  it  as  if  it  had  been  handed  her 
in  a  proper  manner. 

She  often  found  difficulty  in  controlling  her  laughter. 
It  was  contagious  and  very  peculiar.  She  gave  scarcely 
a  sound.  Everything  about  her  was  soft, — her  voice, 
her  mannei',  and  her  laugh  was  almost  inaudible.  But 
it  was  irresistible.  Every  one  in  the  room  joined  in, 
whether  they  knew  the  cause  of  amusement  or  not. 
She  frequently  held  one  hand  over  her  face,  down 
which  the  tears  were  running.  "With  the  other  she 
was  making  signals  of  distress.*     Much  as  these  occa- 

*  "  The  last  remark  was  levelled  at  lier  mother,  who  had  a  singular  way 
10 


110     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

sions  were  enjoyed  by  those  around  her,  it  was  to  her- 
self a  real  regret  that  she  was  so  childlike  in  her  mer- 
riment. She  learned  to  dread  certain  stories  and  allu- 
sions, as  they  invariably  threw  her  into  one  of  these 
fits  of  laughing.  Her  children  and  husband,  who  nat- 
urally most  delighted  in  seeing  her  laugh,  were  cau- 
tioned by  her  not  to  bring  these  things  up.  She  assured 
them  with  an  earnestness  that  they  felt  obliged  to 
respect  that  she  suffered  physically  as  well  as  mentally 
in  her  effort  at  self-control.*  .A.  constant  smile  was  on 
the  mother's  face  even  when  she  was~alT5Trc7~and  often- 
times continued  when  she  was  asleep. 

Tl-)nm,n.s'fi  Hp.yot.inn  tixJifir  n.nrl  tvn^t  i nlvm"  ]  n  H  <rm  p.n  t 

incsgased  with  every  year  of  their  married  lifeT~~He 
often  said  that  tier  judgment  was  betteirthan  his  even 
in  business,  and  that  every  mistake  of  his  life  had  been 
committed  on  the  occasions  when  he  had  failed  to  con- 
sult her.  When  the  children  asked  his  consent  to  any- 
thing his  invaluable  answer  was,  "  Go  to  your  mother." 
This  was  so  well  understood  that  the  reply  to  this  was, 
"Mamma  sent  me  to  you,"  as  she  did  when  in  doubt. 
His  delicate,  chivalrous  attentions  to  her  were  unceas- 
ing. He  delighted  in  teasing  her,  too,  because  she 
looked  so  young  and  pretty  when  her  blushes  were 
brought  up  by  his  raillery.  One  unceasing  occasion 
of  blushing  on  her  part  was  when  he  would  playfully 
threaten  to  sing  to  their  assembled  sons  and  daughters, 
now  growing  to  be  great  boys  and  girls,  the  song  that 
had  won  her  young  heart.  He  called  this  a  "  Die- 
away,"  and  the  first  line  was,  "Sweet  Sophy,  tbe  girl 
that  I  love."  It  seemed  to  be  the  paraphrase  of  some 
song  that  he  had  adopted  to  suit  his  needs  when  he 
saw  that  a  rival  lover  was  in  higher  favor  than  himself, 


of  laughing;  to  wit,  shaking  all  over,  without  emitting  the  slightest 
sound,  while  big  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  Alice  was  the  idol  of  her 
heart,  and  her  queer  freaks  of  vivacious  drollery  often  set  her  mother 
off,  as  at  present,  into  uncontrollable  undulations  of  entirely  inaudible 
laughter."— -Don  Miff,  p.  69. 

f  Sarah  Dabuey  inherited  her  mother's  laugh.  "I  try  to  think  of 
all  the  dead  people  that  I  know,  but  I  cannot  stop  laughing,"  the  little 
child  said,  after  one  of  these  fits  of  uncontrollable  laughter  in  school. 


A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER'S    WIFE.  Ill 

— this  was  the  account  that  he  gave  of  it,  and  he  said 
that  it  turned  the  scale  in  his  favor.  After  this  prelude, 
which  was  delicious  to  the  listening  children,  he  would 
begin  on  the  first  line  with  every  sign  of  an  intention 
of  going  through  to  the  end.  But  her  violent  blushes 
and  entreaties  always  brought  it  to  a  close  after  the 
singing  of  the  first  line.  He  was  tenderly  solicitous 
about  her  health,  and  in  a  constant  state  of  anxiety  if 
she  were  away  from  home.  He  especially  disliked  to 
have  her  go  out  in  the  carriage  unaccompanied  by  him- 
self. When  she  went  to  Raymond, — to  church  or  to 
spend  the  day, — his  rule  was  to  ride  to  meet  her  at  the 
bridge,  or  before  she  reached  the  bridge,  across  the 
Tallahala  Creek.  This  bridge,  being  on  his  land,  was 
kept  in  good  order.  But  she  had  once  been  alarmed 
on  a  bridge  when  the  carriage-horses  had  stopped  and 
run  backward,  and  this  left  an  unpleasant  association 
in  her  mind.  Often,  when  he  found  that  the  carriage 
had  been  ordered  out  by  Sophia  for  some  expedition, 
he  would  change  all  his  own  plans  and  go  with  her. 
He  grew  more  and  more  tenderly  anxious  as  years 
passed,  and  said  that  he  was  never  easy  a  moment 
when  she  was  away.  He  disliked  to  be  in  a  car- 
riage, and  never  got  into  one  if  he  could  avoid  it.  He 
rode  by  the  side,  putting  his  face  to  the  window  and 
talking  to  her,  and  bending  to  catch  her  answers.  His 
wild  thoroughbred  Nimrod  disliked  this,  and  they  had 
many  battles  over  it.  Nimrod  would  leap  and  spring 
off,  and  walk  on  his  hind  legs  in  a  way  that  would  have 
frightened  most  wives. 

The  journey  to  the  Pass,  a  distance  of  one  hundred 
and  eighty  miles,  was  made  overland  by  Thomas  and 
Sophia  and  the  young  children  and  servants.  The 
older  children,  as  time  went  on,  were  usually  sent  by 
the  river  by  way  of  Vicksburg  and  JS"ew  Orleans.  The 
travellers  by  land  were  seven  days  on  the  road.  For 
the  first  few  years  a  camp  equipage  was  carried  along, 
and  the  whole  party  camped  out  at  night.  But  Thomas 
became  acquainted  with  the  country  people  along  the 
road,  and  found  it  more  comfortable  to  engage  supper 
and  beds  in  the  houses.     This  arrangement,  so  satis- 


112     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

factory  to  the  heads  of  the  family,  was  regretted  by 
the  children,  who  took  the  wildest  delight  in  the 
camping-out  experience.  For  them  there  was  a  charm 
in  the  long  shadows  of  the  tall  pine-trees  stretching 
away  in  the  mysterious  darkness  like  the  pillars  of 
some  vast  cathedral,  in  the  soughing  of  the  night-wind 
in  the  tree-tops,  in  the  scent  of  toe  crushed  pine-needles 
as  we  lay  down  to  sleep,  and  even  the  far-away  howling 
of  the  wolves,  which  we  heard  at  one  of  our  camping- 
places,  had  its  fascination.  Then  it  was  full  of  in- 
terest to  us  to  watch  the  pitching  of  the  tent  at  night 
and  the  building  of  the  great  camp-fire,  and  to  sit 
ai'ound  the  fire  while  the  busy  servants  prepared  the 
meals. 

Thomas  set  out  on  this  journey  to  and  from  the  Pass 
on  the  same  day  each  year.  The  country  people  knew 
when  to  expect  him.  A  stranger  passing  through  the 
country  one  of  these  years  saw  such  extensive  arrange-, 
ments  for  supper  going  forward  that  he  asked  why  so 
many  chickens,  etc.,  were  being  prepared.  The  answer 
was  that  Colonel  Dabney  and  his  family  always  came 
on  this  day  each  year.  He  was  looked  for  at  the  Pass 
at  about  two  o'clock  on  the  seventh  day  of  the  journey. 
One  day  several  gentlemen  were  conversing  at  the  Pass ; 
one  of  them  looked  at  his  watch,  and  remarked  that 
Golonel  Dabney  would  be  along  in  about  five  minutes. 
He  went  on  to  say  that  he  had  not  heard  from  him 
since  parting  with  him  at  the  Pass  on  the  preceding 
summer;  but  he  knew  his  punctual  habits.  He  had 
scarcely  gotten  through  saying  this  when  the  carriage 
and  wagon  and  two  or  three  outi'iders  appeared  in 
view,  and  Thomas  Dabney  was  taking  off  his  hat  to 
the  group.  An  old  friend  of  his  was  boasting  to  him 
one  day  that  he  had  never  been  too  late  for  a  steam- 
boat or  a  train.  Thomas  said  that  he  could  say  more, 
he  had  never  been  near  being  too  late. 

The  most  remarkable  instance  of  his  punctuality  is 
in  connection  with  one  of  his  visits  to  his  mother.  He 
wrote  to  her  that  one  year  from  the  date  of  his  letter 
he  would  be  in  Eichmond.  He  did  not  mention  this 
again  in  his  letters  to  her.     She  knew  his  way,  and  on 


A   SOUTHERN  PLANTER'S    WIFE.  113 

the  day  set  she  drove  in  from  Mount  Prospect  in  her 
carriage  to  meet  him. 

The  people  in  the  "  piney  woods"  counties  of  Missis- 
sippi, through  which  the  road  from  Burleigh  to  Pass 
Christian  lay,  were  almost  totally  uneducated.  They 
had  but  little  use  for  money,  subsisting  on  the  products 
of  their  little  patches,  and  cows,  pigs,  and  fowls.  They 
were  frequently  "squatters,"  living  on  government 
lands.  They  raised  a  bale  or  two  of  cotton  each  year 
to  clothe  the  family  and  provide  for  other  simple  needs. 
They  had  no  cotton-gin,  but  separated  the  seed  from 
the  lint  with  their  fingers.  The  women  spun  and  wove 
by  hand  ;  with  bark  and  roots  of  different  kinds  they 
dyed  the  cloth  intended  for  the  men,  but  for  other  piu*- 
poses  it  was  left  in  its  native  whiteness.  The  women 
and  girls,  of  whom  there  seemed  to  be  a  good  many  in 
most  of  the  houses,  dressed  in  white  from  head  to  foot. 
The  beds  were  white,  white  hangings  covered  the  wall 
in  different  places,  and  every  shelf  and  dresser  had  its 
snowy  drapery.  They  showed  ingenuity  in  varying 
the  patterns  of  the  fringes  and  edges  that  bordered 
these  simple  decorations.  The  chairs  were  made  of 
white  wood,  and  were  scrubbed  until  they  were  almost 
as  snowy  as  the  cotton  fabrics.  The  effect  was  very 
neat  and  pleasing.  One  of  these  simple  people  said  that 
Mrs.  Dabney  was  her  idea  of  how  a  queen  must  look. 

The  hair  of  the  children  was,  up  to  the  age  of  ten 
years,  so  light  as  to  be  almost  white;  it  looked  like  the 
snowy,  silvery  hair  that  comes  with  great  age. 

One  man,  Mr.  Holyfield,  was  so  proud  of  the  single 
letter  that  he  had  received  in-his  life  that  it  was  posted 
up  on  the  inside  of  his  door.  Here,  year  by  year,  we 
read  it.  They  had  a  way  of  not  undressing  at  night, 
and  were  quite  startled  at  the  first  sight  of  a  lady  in  a 
night-gown.  It  was  our  grandmamma  Hill.  One  of 
her  family  was  hastily  summoned,  and  the  inquiry  made 
if  the  old  lady  thought  that  she  was  going  to  die.  They 
thought  that  she  was  attiring  herself  in  a  shroud. 

Our  dear  mother  was  known  as  a  friend  to  the  ped- 
dlers who  come  about  the  country  with  packs  on  their 
backs.  They  were  disliked  by  many  planters,  but 
h  10* 


114     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

Thomas  let  her  have  her  way  in  helping  them.  One 
day  her  son  Edward  was  in  Yicksburg  buying  clothes, 
and  gave  his  name  to  the  shopkeeper.  The  man  asked 
if  he  were  a  son  of  Colonel  Dabney,  and  being  answered 
in  the  affirmative,  was  warm  in  his  expressions  of  grati- 
tude. He  had  been  a  peddler,  he  said,  and  had  been 
most  kindly  treated  at  Burleigh.  He  had  heard  Mrs. 
Dabney  say  to  her  husband,  "  This  man  looks  sick. 
Why  do  you  not  give  him  a  horse  ?"  "  Certainly,  my 
dear,"  was  the  answer,  and  when  he  got  ready  to  tie 
his  pack  up,  a  horse  was  given  to  him. 

Another  peddler  who  had  been  helped  by  her  is  now 
the  owner  of  a  piano-store,  and  loses  no  opportunity 
of  trying  to  serve  her  children,  expressing  a  grateful 
recollection  of  her  kindness.  One  day  a  peddler  offered 
her  ten  dollars  for  a  blind  mule  that  he  had  seen  in  the 
stable.  The  mule  was  never  used,  but  was  fed  and  cared 
for  on  account  of  past  services.  She  told  him  that  she 
would  not  sell  the  poor  beast,  but  she  would  give  him 
to  him  on  a  certain  condition.  This  coudition  was  that 
if  he  acre w  tired  of  him  he  would  not  sell  him,  but  brino- 
him  back  to  her.  The  promise  was  given.  But  the 
mule  was  fat  and  strong,  and  a  good  price  was  offered 
by  some  one,  and  the  peddler  sold  him.  He  was  a  young 
German.  It  so  happened  that  another  German  was  in 
the  Burleigh  house  at  the  time  of  this  transaction,  en- 
gaged in  papering  the  walls.  He  was  incensed  that  the 
lady's  kindness  should  have  met  with  such  return  at 
the  hands  of  one  of  his  countrymen.  He  resolved  to 
vindicate  the  honor  of  the  Fatherland  by  beating  the 
recreant  peddler  every  time  that  he  met  him.  Mrs. 
Dabney  remonstrated  seriously,  and  plead  the  cause  of 
the  peddler.     But  it  was  of  no  avail., 

The  paper-hanger  gave  the  peddYer,two  beatings,  and 
tried  to  beat  him  a  third  time.  But  the  peddler  turned 
on  him,  and  gave  him  such  a  drubbing  that  the  man 
was  content  to  let  him  alone  in  the  future.  Several 
years  after  this  two  of  Thomas's  daughters  were  at 
Cooper's  Wells  for  a  few  days.  Finding  that  they 
needed  some  ribbons  and  other  trifles,  they  sent  their 
maid  out  to  buy  them.     She  returned  with  the  things, 


A   SOUTHERN  PLANTER.     -  115 

and  all  the  money  that  had  been  handed  her.  The 
shopkeeper  had  asked  who  her  young  mistresses  were, 
and  on  hearing  their  name,  had  refused  to  receive  pay- 
ment. No  one  of  that  family  could  pay  for  anything 
in  his  shop,  he  said.  On  investigation,  he  turned  out 
to  be  one  of  the  peddlers  whom  our  mother  had 
helped. 

When  the  fields  were  burned,  in  preparation  for  an- 
other crop,  the  fires,  unless  well  managed,  sometimes 
did  mischief.  Not  infrequently,  too,  the  negroes  in  their 
coon-hunts  left  their  half-extinguished  torches  about, 
with  no  thought  of  the  dangerous  proximity  of  valuable 
property.  One  Sunday  the  cry  was  raised  that  the 
fences  were  burning.  The  master  hurried  to  the  fire 
with  the  men  who  could  be  called,  and  after  a  hard  fight 
it  was  put  out.  Edward,  who  was  now  quite  a  lad,  had 
run  to  the  fire.  He  perceived  that  another  part  of  the 
fence  was  afire  and  that  it  was  fast  running  along  the 
dried  grass  to  the  ginhouse.  There  was  no  time  to  get 
help.  He  beat  it  out  and  subdued  it  unassisted,  and 
was  nearly  fainting  when  his  father  found  him.  He 
sent  him  back  to  the  house,  while  he  and  the  negroes 
completed  the  work.  Edward  did  not  tell  any  one  of 
what  he  had  done.  When  his  father  came,  he  said  that 
the  boy  had  saved  ten  thousand  dollars  for  him  a  few 
hours  before,  at  the  risk  of  his  life.  Thomas  did  not 
readily  express  his  affection  for  his  children  at  this 
period  of  his  life,  but  a  few  words,  "That  was  right, 
my  son,"  or  "  my  child,"  with  the  fond,  lingering  touch 
on  the  head,  were  felt  to  mean  far  more  than  the  words 
expressed.  <A 

tt: 

I**  M 


\  * 


W*      '    CHAPTER 


A   SOUTHERN    PLANTER. 


Perhaps  no  life  was  more  independent  than  that  of 
a ^Southern^jpijTnUa?]!^  war". '    One  of  the 

Mississippi  neighbors   said   thatThe  would  rather  be 


116      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

Colonel  Dabney  on  his  plantation  than  the  President 
of  the  United  States. 

Managing  a  plantation  was  something  like  managing 
a  kingdom.  The  ruler  had  need  of  a  great  store,  not 
only  of  wisdom,  but  of  tact  and  patience  as  well. 

When  there  was  trouble  in  the  house  the  real  kind- 
ness and  sympathy  of  the  servants  came  out.  They 
seemed  to  anticipate  every  wish.  In  a  thousand  touch- 
ing little  ways  they  showed  their  desire  to  give  all  the 
comfort  and  help  that  lay  in  their  power.  They  seemed 
to  claim  a  right  to  share  in  the  sorrow  that  was  their 
master's,  and  to  make  it  their  own.  It  was  small 
wonder  that  the  master  and  mistress  were  forbearing 
and  patient  when  the  same  servants  who  sorrowed 
with  them  in  their  affliction  should,  at  times,  be  per- 
verse in  their  days  of  prosperity.  Many  persons  said 
that  the  Burleigh  servants  were  treated  with  over- 
indulgence. It  is  true  that  at  times  some  of  them  acted 
like  spoiled  children,  seeming  not  to  know  what  they 
would  have.  Nothing  went  quite  to  their  taste  at  these 
times.  The  white  family  would  say  among  themselves, 
"What  is  the  matter  now?  Why  these  martyr-like 
looks  ?"  Mammy  Maria  usually  threw  light  on  these 
occasions.  She  was  disgusted  with  her  race  for  posing 
as  martyrs  when  there  was  no  grievance.  A  striking- 
illustration  of  this  difficulty  in  making  things  run 
smoothly  occurred  one  summer,  when  the  family  was 
preparing  to  go  to  the  Pass.  The  mistress  made  out  her 
list  of  the  servants  whom  she  wished  to  accompany  her. 
She  let  them  know  that  they  were  to  be  allowed  extra 
time  to  get  their  houses  and  clothes  in  oi'der  for  the 
three  months'  absence  from  home.  Some  of  them 
answered  with  tears.  It  would  be  cruel  to  be  torn 
from  home  and  friends,  perhaps  husband  and  children, 
and  not  to  see  them  for  all  that  time.  Sophia  regret- 
fully made  out  a  new  list,  leaving  out  the  most  clamor- 
ous ones.  There  were  no  tears  shed  nor  mournful  looks 
given  by  the  newly  elected,  for  dear  to  the  colored 
heart  was  the  thought  of  change  and  travel.  It  was  a 
secret  imparted  by  Mammy  Maria  to  her  mistress  that 
great  was  the  disappointment  of  those  who  had  over- 


A   SOUTHERN  PLANTER.  117 

acted  their  part,  thereby  cutting  themselves  off  from  a 
much-coveted  pleasure. 

Thomas  was  never  an  early  riser.  He  maintained 
that  it  did  not  so  much  matter  when  a  man  got  up  as 
what  he  did  after  he  was  up.  He  woke  up  in  the 
morning  as  gay  as  a  boy,  and  when  Sophia,  fully 
dressed,  informed  him  that  it  was  time  to  get  up,  re- 
ceived the  announcement  with  one  of  his  liveliest  tunes. 
That  was  the  only  answer  usually  to  the  first  summons 
or  two.  She  could  not  help  laughing;  no  one  could 
who  heard  him.  When  she  remonstrated  he  sang  only 
the  more  gayly. 

Every  one  knew  when  he  was  awake  by  the  merry 
sounds  proceeding  from  his  chamber.  He  did  not  go 
in  to  breakfast  till  he  had  danced  the  Fisher's  Hornpipe 
for  the  baby,  singing  along  with  the  steps  and  drawing 
an  imaginary  bow  across  imaginary  strings.  All  the 
nursery  flocked  about  him  at  the  signal,  one  or  two  of 
the  little  tots  joining  in  the  capering.  This  habit  he 
kept  up  to  the  end  of  his  life,  and  his  grown  children 
would  smile  as  they  heard  the  cheery  notes  sounding 
through  the  house  on  his  awaking.  Then  he  walked 
with  his  quick,  half-military  step,  the  laugh  still  on  his 
face,  into  the  dining-room,  where  breakfast  was  already 
in  progress.  It  was  not  a  ceremonious  meal  he  main- 
tained. Dinner  was  a  ceremonious  meal  in  his  house. 
Every  one  was  expected  to  be  ready,  and  sitting  with 
the  family  in  the  hall  or  drawing-room  or  dining-room 
not  less  than  five  minutes  before  the  last  bell  was  rung. 
If  there  was  a  lady  guest,  the  master  of  the  house 
handed  her  in  to  dinner.  If  the  guest  was  a  gentleman, 
he  was  expected  to  hand  in  one  of  the  ladies,  as 
Thomas  showed  by  offering  his  arm  to  one. 

He  was  the  life  of  the  company,  as  he  sat  at  the  foot 
of  his  own  table.  Hairy  of  his  most  amusing  anecdotes 
and  stories,  as  well  as  those  of  deeper  meaning,  are  as- 
sociated with  the  dinner-table.  No  one  could  fill  his 
place  when  he  was  absent. 

He  was  often  absent,  being  called  from  home  by 
matters  of  business  or  duty  or  pleasure.  In  addition  to 
spending   some   time   every    other   summer   with    his 


118     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

mother  in  Yirginia,  and  going  occasionally  to  New 
York,  and  two  weeks  every  fall  on  the  deer-hunt,  he 
made  frequent  visits  to  New  Orleans,  Vicksburg,  and 
Jackson,  and  occasional  visits  to  other  places.  He 
rarely  spent  a  week  without  passing  a  day  with  Au- 
gustine. 

.  In  travelling  on  steamboats,  if  alone,  he  always  se- 
lected for  himself  the  state-room  just  over  the  boiler. 
If  the  boat  were  to  blow  up,  he  said  he  should  prefer 
being  killed  outright  to  running  a  risk  of  being  only 
half  killed,  or  of  being  maimed  for  life.  It  need  hardly 
be  added  that  he  found  no  difficulty  in  securing  his 
chosen  state-room. 

His  interest  in  public  affairs  sometimes  called  him  off 
to  distant  cities. 

January  always  found  him  in  New  Orleans  for  a 
three  weeks'  visit.  After  attending  to  his  business  with 
his  commission  merchants  and  buying  the  plantation 
supplies,  he  enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  this  brilliant  city. 
He  was  a  member  of  the  Boston  Club,  and  he  there 
met  the  most  interesting  and  distinguished  citizens  of 
New  Orleans.  One  of  the  chief  attractions  of  this 
place  was  the  game  of  whist  to  be  had  there.  He  was 
considered  authority  on  whist.  A  game  that  ho  once 
played  at  the  Greenbrier  White  Sulphur  Springs,  in 
Yirginia,  was  considered  remarkable.  His  old  friend, 
Mr.  John  Tabb,  of  Whitemarsh,  Gloucester  County,  had 
invited  him  to  a  game  of  whist  in  his  cottage  at  the 
Springs.  Three  whist-players  of  known  skill  were  in- 
vited to  play  with  him,  and  a  company  invited  to  wit- 
ness the  game.  During  the  evening  a  singular  incident 
took  place.  Twelve  cards  had  been  played  out  of  each 
hand,  leaving  each  gentleman  with  his  thirteenth 
card  only.  At  this  point  Thomas  Dabney  said  to 
them  that  he  wished  to  call  their  attention  to  a  singular 
coincidence  in  the  fact  that  every  man  present  held  in 
his  hand  a  nine.  When  the  cards  were  laid  on  the 
table  this  was  seen  to  be  true,  to  the  surprise  of  all. 
One  gentleman  said  he  could  show  a  more  remarkable 
thing  than  that,  it  was  the  man  who  knew  it. 

He  was  never  but  once  a  candidate  for  any  office  in 


A   SOUTHERN  PLANTER.  119 

Mississippi ;  that  was  for  the  State  Legislature.  He 
was  defeated  by  one  vote.  The  contest  was  strictly  a 
party  one,  and  all  the  candidates  on  the  Whig  ticket 
were  defeated  by  their  Democratic  opponents. 

T h O m as  Pn.hnpy  wn.s  ftnthnsinslif.  in  his  nrlmirntinn 
of  Henry  Clay,  and  followed  his  career  with  the  deepest 
interest.  Tie  seemed  almost  to  know  Mr.  Clay's  speecbes 
by  heart,  and  delighted  in  talking  of  him  and  quoting 
his  brilliant  sayings.  "I  had  rather  be  right  than 
President"  was  a  great  utterance,  he  said.  He  con- 
tracted a  warm  personal  friendship  for  him,  and  was 
anxious  to  accept  Mr.  Clay's  invitation  to  visit  him  at 
Asbland.  But  my  mother  objected.  She  knew  that 
the  great  statesman  had  his  failings  as  well  as  his  vir- 
tues. She  had  a  very  gentle  way  of  objecting,  but  her 
gentle  way  was  a  law  to  him.  He  yielded,  and  did  not 
go.  He  greatly  admired  S.  S.  Prentiss,  and  enjoyed 
having  a  visit  from  him  at  the  Pass  Christian  house. 

The  National  Intelligencer  was  the  most  ably  con- 
ducted  paper  in  the  United  States,  in  his  opinion.  He 
kept  it  on  tile.  In  sending  on  his  subscription  his  cus- 
tom was  to  send  twenty-five  dollars  at  a  time. 

His  lively  interest  in  public  affairs  made  him  write  a 
good  deal  for  the  public  press.  Unfortunately,  the 
many  papers  stowed  away  with  his  articles  in  them 
have  been  destroyed. 

Tutors  were  employed  to  teach  in  the  family  until  \/ 
the  boys  were  old  enough  to  be  sent  off  to  college.  In 
order  to  make  the  boys  Study  with  more  interest,  the 
children  of  the  neighbors  were  received  into  the  school. 
When  the  three  sons  were  sent  off  to  college,  a  gov- 
erness was  employed  to  teach  the  daughters.  The 
teachers  at  Burleigh  were  treated  like  guests  and 
friends.  Thomas  said  that  he  did  not  wish  any  but 
ladies  to  have  the  charge  of  his  daughters,  and  they 
should  be  treated  as  ladies.  Miss  Dyott,  the  beloved 
governess,  who  lived  in  the  house  five  years,  loved  the 
family  like  dear  relatives.  When  Mrs.  Moncure's  daugh- 
ter was  taken  as  a  pupil  along  with  his  daughters,  he 
handed  to  Miss  Dyott,  in  addition  to  her  salary,  the 
money  paid  for  this  child's  tuition.     She  objected,  and 


120      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

said,  that  another  pupil  or  two  would  really  make  hen 
school-duties  more  interesting  to  his  daughters  and  to 
herself;  but  he  was  firm,  and  she  had  to  receive  the 
money. 

During  her  stay  at  Burleigh,  when  there  was  com- 
pany to  dinner,  the  master  of  the  house  took  her  in  on 
his  arm.  At  her  death,  many  years  later,  the  Burleigh 
family  stood  around  her  grave  with  her  family  as 
mourners.  •  . 

It  may  be  said  that  all  honest  men  who  had  business 
transactions  with  Thomas  Dabney  became  his  personal 
friends.  It  was  evident  that  he  did  not  wish  to  get  the 
advantage  of  any  one.  Several  of  his  overseers  soon 
became  able  to  buy  farms  of  their  own,  and  grew  to  be 
rich  men.  He  was  so  liberal  in  his  dealings  with  thein, 
that  it  was  said  they  made  as  much  in  fattening  and 
selling  their. riding-horses  as  their  salaries  amounted 
to.  He  was  often  cheated  and  imposed  upon.  Instead 
-of  worrying  over  it,  he  said  he  was  very  glad  that  he 
had  found  the  scoundrels  out. 

The  first  tutor  in  the  family  was  a  young  "Virginian 
of  high  culture.  He  taught  the  sons — Charles,  Yir- 
ginius,  and  Edward — for  nine  years,  and  during  the  last 
few  years  some  of  the  older  girls  went  into  the  school- 
room along  with  their  brothers.  Thomas  regarded 
this  young  man  almost  like  a  son.  Always  unsuspi- 
cious, he  was  slow  in  perceiving  that  he  was  falling  into 
dissipated  habits.  He  was  attached  to  Thomas,  and 
valued  his  good  opinion  so'  much  that  he  was  able  to 
control  himself  when  with  him.  But  he  found  that  the 
love  of  drink  was  getting  too  strong  for  him.  He  joined 
a  temperance  society,  hoping  to  get  self-control  in  this 
way.  In  an  hour  of  weakness  he  broke  his  pledge. 
He  no  longer  had  respect  for  himself,  and  resolved  on 
self-destruction.  But  he  could  not  carry  it  into  effect 
while  under  the  influence  of  the  strong  character  of 
Thomas  Dabney. 

When  the  time  came  for  the  household  to  go  to 
Pass  Christian,  whither  the  tutors  and  governesses 
were  always  pressed  to  go  as  guests,  he  steadily  re- 
fused to  accompany  them,  as  he  had  done  in  the  pre- 


A   SOUTHERN  PLANTER.  121 

ceding  summer.  He  had  made  every  arrangement  to 
kill  himself  as  soon  as  Thomas  should  be  gone.  "  I 
have  too  much  respect  for  Colonel  Dabney  to  kill  my- 
self in  his  house,"  he  ha'd  said  to  a  gentleman  in  the 
neighborhood.  He  went  to  a  neighboring  plantation 
and  cut  his  throat  that  night.  The  bodjr  was  sent  to 
Raymond  for  interment,  and  was  put  by  the  side  of  the 
two  boys,  Thomas  and  James  Dabney.  At  once,  on 
hearing  of  this,  Thomas  wrote  to  Augustine  to  have 
the  remains  of  the  unhappy  man  taken  up.  IsTo  suicide^ 
he  said,  should  rest  by  the  side  of  his  pure  children. 

It  is  a  singular  coincidence  that  the  suicide  of  another 
teacher  in  his  family,  a  German  music-teacher,  took 
place  during  his  absence,  and  it  was  thought  that  if 
Thomas  Dabney  had  been  at  home  it  would  not  have 
occurred.  This  man  became  so  much  attached  to  him 
as  to  be  hardly  happy  out  of  his  house.  His  visits  to 
Burleigh  became  more  and  more  frequent  and  longer, 
until  finally  he  had-  his  trunks  brought  with  him. 
Thomas  was  passionately  fond  of  music.  He,  had  in 
vain  tried  to  persuade  an  accomplished  Belgian  vio- 
linist to  move  to  Burleigh  with  his  wife  and  child  to 
live  there.  The  hundred-dollar  bill  that  accompanied 
the  invitation  had  its  effect,  and  he  spent  some  weeks 
there.  It  is  possible  that  he  would  have  prolonged  his 
stay  but  for  being  afraid  %p  play  on  his  violin  on  Sun- 
days. He  consulted  the  German  governess  in  the  fam- 
ily on  this  point  in  his  native  language,  the  French, 
in  the  hearing  of  some  of  the  family,  who  understood 
French.  The  governess  advised  him  not  to  play  on  his 
violin.  So  Sunday  got  to  be  a  long  day  with  him,  and 
he  and  his  wife  and  little  "  Carlito"  went  away.  Sophia 
was  not  sorry  to  see  him  go,  although  when  he  played 
with  the  tears  running  down  his  face,  she  herself  felt 
moved  by  the  divine  music  which  seemed  to  come  from 
his  very  heart.  All  the  more  she  felt  that  her  husband 
and  children  were  getting  too  much  absorbed  by  it. 
Sometimes  the  artist  improvised  for  hours,  walking  up 
and  down  the  room,  his  eyes  rolled  upward  in  an 
ecstasj^, — then  exhaustion  followed,  and  strong  coffee 
was  called  for  to  steady  the  overstrained  nerves.  At 
v  11 


122     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

these  times  the  whole  house  was  absorbed  in  the  musi- 
cian and  his  music.  It  was  all  too  exciting  and  intoxi- 
cating for  every -day  life. 

The  violin  was  Thomas's  favorite  instrument.  The 
German  music-teacher  did  not  play  on  the  violin,  but 
he  was  a  brilliant  performer  on  the  piano  and  a  good 
backgammon  player.  These  two  accomplishments,  with 
a  quiet,  unobtrusive  manner,  made  him  a  welcome  in- 
mate of  the  house.  He  was  careless  and  indolent  in 
his  music  lessons,  and  these  had  ceased  long  before  he 
came  to  the  house  to  live.  But  he  was  ready  to  play 
when  music  was  wanted  in  the  evenings,  and  was  never 
tired  of  the  mid-day  game  of  backgammon,  when  Thomas 
came  back  from  his  rides  on  the  plantation. 

One  summer,  when  the  whole  family  went  to  Vir- 
ginia, he  concluded  that  he  would  stay  on  at  Burleigh 
rather  than  give  up  his  room.  He  explained  once, 
when  invited  to  spend  the  night  away  from  Burleigh, 
that  he  could  not  sleep  well  except  at  "  home."  The 
family  stayed  longer  than  he  expected  in  Virginia. 
They  were  detained  by  the  yellow  fever,  which  was 
raging  in  some  of  the  cities  through  which  the  route 
home  lay.  The  man  grew  morbidly  anxious  to  see 
Thomas,  the  only  human  being  for  whom  he  was  ever 
known  to  show  affection  in  America.  He  went  to 
Vicksburg  to  meet  him,  and  there  heard  that  there  was 
still  further  delay,  as  the  fever  had  broken  out  afresh. 
He  became  despondent  and  began  to  drink.  When 
Thomas  reached  home  he  had  been  dead  two  days. 
He  had  blown  his  brains  out  with  a  revolver. 

Charles,  the  eldest  son,  was  ready  for  college  in  the 
fall  of  1846.  He  was  at  this  time  sixteen  years  old. 
He  was  sent  to  the  college  of  William  and  Mary  in 
Virginia.  In  the  following  winter  Thomas  had  the 
only  serious  illness  that  attacked  him  during  the  fifty 
years  that  he  lived  in  Mississippi.  On  February  13 
Sophia  wrote  to  her  son  : 

"My  dear  Charley, — This  day  I  have  received 
two  letters  from  you,  one  dated  the  20th  of  January  to 
me  and  the  other  the  1st  of  February  to  Virginius  and 


A   SOUTHERN  PLANTER.  123 

your  papa.  I  have  been  uneasy  about  you,  for- 1  had 
not  received  a  letter  from  you  for  three  weeks.  But 
your  papa  had  more  philosophy  than  I  had.  He  said 
he  was  not  at  all  uneasy.  .  .  .  Tour  papa  is  a  good 
deal  better.  To-day  he  ate  two  doves  at  dinner,  and 
he  and  Mr.  Garlick  drove  out  in  the  carriage.  He 
has  a  very  great  appetite.  He  is  not  allowed  to  sit  at 
my  table.  .  .  . 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed  when  you  see 
Sarah.  She  is  at  an  ugly  age.  Sue  has  improved  very 
much.  I  think  she  is  equally  as  'pretty  as  Sarah  is 
now.  But  you  have  not  the  least  idea  how  perfectly 
beautiful  Emmy  is.  When  Mr.  Dimitry  first  saw  her 
he  was  astonished,  and  exclaimed  that  she  was  a  mag- 
nificent child.  I 'never  saw  such  a  pair  of  eyes.  Her 
skin  is  very  fair,  her  cheeks  rosy,  and  her  countenance 
all  amiability.  She  is  very  much  caressed.  Sue  talks 
more  about  you  than  any  of  the  children.  She  dreams 
about  you  occasionally.  She  dreamed  a  few  nights  ago 
that  you  had  come  home  and  brought  a  wife  with  you. 
She  was  quite  disappointed  when  she  opened  her  eyes 
and  found  it  was  a  dream."  .  .  . 

Before  this  letter  was  sealed  Sophia  was  bidden  to 
add  a  postscript : 

"Dear  Chaises,  I  have  now  something  to  write  for 
your  papa,  as  he  is  not  able  to  write.  He  says  that  he 
is  dissatisfied  with  your  way  of  going  on.  You  are 
spending  too  much  monej*.  You  speak  of  the  one 
hundred  and  eighty-seven  dollars  lately  received  with 
a  levity  that  shocked  him  exceedingly.  You  say  that 
it  will  last  you  some  time.  He  says  you  are  right,  for 
it  will  last  you  till  next  fall.  Are  you  aware  that  you 
have  had  about  nine  hundred  dollars  from  your  father? 
Do  you  think  that  he  can  afford  such  sums  to  you  and  do 
justice  to  his  other  children?  If  you  do  you  are  mis- 
taken. But  you  know  better.  Be  wise,  therefore,  and 
retrace  your  steps  before  it  is  too  late.  Your  father 
will  write  as  soon  as  he  can.     Your  devoted  mother, 

"S.  D." 


124     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SO  UTHERN  PLANTER. 

It  must  have  cost  the  mother-heart  a  pang  to  write 
thus  to  her  dutiful,  affectionate  boy.  Not  until  more 
than  two  months  had  passed  was  this  matter  explained. 

THOMAS    TO   HIS    SON    CHARLES. 

"  Raymond,  19th  April,  1847. 

"  My  dear  Son, — Your  mother's  letter  to  you  of  the 
15th  was  read  by  me  and  approved.  This  is  probably  as 
much  as  you  would  wish  me  to  say,  but  I  shall  say  some- 
thing more,  as  it  is  due  to  you.  To  begin  with  your 
mother's  postscript,  written  at  my  dictation.  I  made 
her  say  that  the  one  hundred  and  eighty-seven  dollars 
would  last  you  some  time  ;  '  Yes,  it  shall  last  you  some 
time;  until  next  fall.'  Your  reply  to  this  is  in  these 
words :  '  Now,  my  dear  father,  I  will  certainly  make  it 
last  as  long  as  I  can.  It  will  last  me  unless  I  have  a  doc- 
tor's bill  to  pay,  which  I  hope  will  not  be  the  case.  I 
know  how  hard  you  work  for  this  money,  etc.,  etc.,'  and, 
after  saying  other  things,  you  conclude  with,  '  If  I  have 
been  too  extravagant  this  year,  I  will  not  be  so  again.' 
This  reply  does  you  more  honor  than  any  act  of  your 
life.  It  is  a  perfectly  dutiful,  respectful,  and  affectionate 
reply  to  a  cruel  and  unjust  injunction  from  your  father, 
carrying  with  it  an  equally  cruel  and  unjust  imputation. 
But  you  were  not  unmindful  that  it  came  from  your 
father.  I  will  now  explain.  During  my  illness  I  was 
kept  for  many  days  under  the  influence  of  opium  in 
large  quantities.  But  I  slept  not.  On  the  contrary,  my 
imagination  was  haunted  by  horrible  visions.  I  took 
up  strange  fancies  having  no  foundation,  but  firmly 
believed  in,  notwithstanding.  I  thought  of  you,  my 
absent  one,  when  all  others  were  freed  from  their 
earthly  cares  by  sleep.  During  this  time  letters  accu- 
mulated ;  and  your  mother  asked  me  one  day  (it  appears 
to  have  been  on  the  13th  of  February  by  your  letter) 
if  I  would  like  to  hear  any  of  them  read.  I  told  her 
to  read  yours  to  me,  but  none  others.  One  of  yours 
acknowledged  the  receipt  of  the  one  hundred  and 
eighty-seven  dollars,  with  the  l^emark  that  you  would 
not  have  to  call  for  any  more  for  some  time.  Now, 
although  I  well  knew  before  I  was  taken  sick  that  you 


A   SOUTHERN  PLANTER.  125 

would  want  this  one  hundred  and  eighty-seven  dollars 
by  the  time  you  could  get  it  from  Gloucester,  and  al- 
though I  entertained  great  doubts  about  its  sufficiency 
to  carry  you  through  the  session,  yet,  at  that  moment 
of  a  distempered  imagination,  your  remark  above 
quoted  struck  me  as  extraordinary.  I  thought  you 
had  had  a  great  deal  of  money.  I  confounded  what  I 
gave  Christopher  with  what  I  gave  you, — that  you  had 
each  received  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  that 
you  had  received  a  like  sum  from  your  grandmother. 
This  fancy  of  a  sick  brain  became  a  fixed  idea,  and  re- 
mained so  even  after  my  recovery ;  for  it  never  occurred 
to  me  that  it  was  false,  and,  consequently,  it  could  need 
no  investigation.  I  never  knew  better  until  I  read  the 
statement  in  your  letter  of  the  2d  instant.  I  have  now 
acknowledged  my  fault ;  not  esteeming  it  as  a  degra- 
dation for  a  parent  to  acknowledge  his  faults  to  his 
children.  On  the  contrary,  I  should  hold  that  parent 
irretrievably  disgraced  who  should  make  the  futile  at- 
tempt (it  must  ever  be  futile)  to  conceal  them  by  bold- 
ness or  by  an  affected  obtuseness. 

"  Under  all  the  painful  circumstances  of  the  two  let- 
ters from  your  mother  and  the  one  from  me  of  the  1st 
of  March,  I  cannot  blame  you  much  for  your  proposi- 
tions concerning  the  army  and  navy  and  "West  Point. 
These  propositions,  coming  at  the  time  they  do,  and 
coupled  with  the  assurance  or  remark  that  should 
you  get  to  "West  Point  you  will  not  want  me  to  give 
you  anj^thing  more,  looks  as  though  you  apprehended  I 
might  feel  you  to  be  burdensome.  Now,  my  dear  child, 
how  you  have  mistaken  me  if  this  is,  or  ever  was,  for 
one  moment  your  idea.  You  know  but  little  of  your 
father1,  of  the  depth  of  his  love  for  you,  of  the  vigils  he 
has  kept,  is  keeping,  and  expects  to  keep,  till  the  last 
pulsation  of  his  heart,  on  your  behalf  if  you  think 
this  of  him.  No,  my  dear  child,  you  never  were  a 
burden  to  me.  The  day  you  are  felt  to  be  such,  or  the 
day  on  which  any  of  my  children  are  felt  to  be  such, 
will  be  a  sad  one  in  their  poor  father's  house, — for  poor 
he  will  then  be  indeed! 

"  I  never  made  any  objection  to  your  going  to  West 
11* 


126      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

Point,  because  I  consider  it  a  good  school,  where  a  good, 
though  not  a  perfect,  education  may  be  acquired.  I 
therefore  acceded  to  what  I  believed  to  be  your  wish, 
and  made  an  effort  to  get  you  in  there.  This  I  did 
because  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  think  that  parents 
know  everything  and  children  nothing.  But  the  fea- 
ture in  it  which  would  exempt  me  from  paying  your 
way  is  a  positive  and  very  great  objection  with  me. 
It  was  not  necessary  that  I  should  say  so  at  that  time, 
and  I  did  not,  because  I  did  not  choose  to  object  in  any 
way  to  promoting  your  wish.  I  will  not  make  the  ob- 
jection insurmountable  now,  but  will  keep  a  standing 
application  there  in  your  behalf  if  you  wish  it.  I  will 
make  it  my  business  to  interest  General  Foote,  one  of 
our  Senators,  in  your  behalf  if  it  be  possible  for  a  Whig 
to  find  any  favor  with  the  present  administration.  As 
to  what  you  say  about  the  navy  or  getting  a  lieuten- 
ancy in  the  army,  I  cannot  .think  of  such  a  thing,  my 
dear  son,  as  your  education  would  be  nothing  if  arrested 
now,  as  it  would  be  in  such  a  case.  Indeed,  I  hope  that 
those  notions  have  been  put  to  flight  by  what  I  have 
already  written. 

"  I  shall  not  wish  you  to  be  more  economical  than 
you  have  been.  You  might  have  spared  the  assertion 
that  you  lost  none  of  it  at  cai'ds,  as  neither  your  mother 
nor  myself  ever  doubted  your  honor  for  the  millionth 
part  of  a  second.  You  will  not  sit  at  cards  during  your 
college  life,  because  I  asked  you  not  to  do  it.  With  the 
degree  of  A.M.  in  your  pocket  you  can  do  as  you  wish 
in  this  respect. 

"Unless  3Tou  expect  me  to  be  more  unfortunate  in 
my  efforts  than  I  have  been,  I  see  no  reason  why  you 
should  say  that  you  will  want  nothing  more  from  me 
than  a  good  education.  I  expect  to  educate  my  chil- 
dren without  impairing  my  property.  If  I  do  this, 
they  will  divide  what  I  have  and  what  I  may  hereafter 
acquire  (if  any)  equally  among  them. 

"If  you  would  not  mortify  me  you  will  not  let  me 
find  you  next  summer  without  an  ample  supply  of 
seasonable  clothing  and  every  other  thing  proper  for  a 
gentleman.     Eeward  such  servants  and  others  as  de- 


A   SOUTHERN  PLANTER.  127 

serve  rewards  at  your  hands.  Do  not  leave  Williams- 
burg without  impressing  it  indelibly  on  the  recollec- 
tions of  all  with  whom  you  have  had  associations  that 
you  are  a  gentleman.  It  is  too  late  now  for  me  to 
make  any  remittance  to  enable  you  to  meet  these  views, 
but  you  can  call  upon  your  grandmother  for  any  sum 
that  may  be  necessary,  and  I  will  return  it  to  her  on 
the  1st  of  Jul}T. 

"  Your  ever  devoted  father, 

"  Thos.  S.  Dabney." 

In  the  summer  of  1816  Sophia  wrote  to  her  hus- 
band : 

"Pass  Christian. 

"  I  do  want  to  see  you  very  much,  but  I  want  you  to 
remain  a  little  longer  with  your  friends,  your  mother 
particularly,  you  have  not  seen  her  for  such  a  length 
of  time.  I  know  how  I  should  feel  when  so  long  sep- 
arated from  a  beloved  son.  ...  I  do  not  like  to  make 
you  unhappy  one  moment.  I  tell  you  all  my  griev- 
ances and  all  my  joys." 

She  had  made  some  allusion  to  the  drunkenness  of  / 
the  tutor.    Her  English  gardener  had  given  her  trouble 
in  the  same  way. 

On  the  4th  of  November  of  this  fall  (1846)  the  sev- 
enth son  was  born.  It  was  the  anniversaiy  of  the 
birth  of  Sarah,  now  eight  years  old.  She  had  received 
the  name  of  her  father's  mother,  and  the  infant  boy 
was  called  Benjamin,  after  his  father. 

The  Mexican  war  fever  was  running;  hio;h  now. 
Thomas  had  given  his  epaulettes  and  his  two-yards- 
wide  silken  sash,  that  could  pass  through  a  lady's 
finger-ring,  to  the  captain  of  the  Raymond  Fencibles. 
Even  the  little  children  in  the  nursery  cried  out  that 
the  Mexicans  were  firing  when  the  fire  crackled. 
Charles  had  a  leaning  towards  a  soldier's  life,  and  his 
ardor  was  inflamed.  His  pleadings  to  be  allowed  to 
follow  a  militaiy  career  were  so  earnest  that  his  parents 
yielded  a  reluctant  consent.  The  Mississippi  Senator, 
Governor  Henry  S.  Foote,  was  a  personal  friend.     Ap- 


128     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

plication  was  made  through  him  to  the  War  Office,  and 
the  appointment  for  West  Point  came  in  due  time. 
Charles  knew  that  at  heart  his  parents  were  unwilling 
for  him  to  go  into  the  army,  and  after  receiving  the 
commission  he  felt  that  he  could  not  conscientiously 
act  in  opposition  to  their  known  wishes.  He  decided 
to  throw  up  the  appointment,  thus  sacrificing  his  am- 
bition to  filial  obedience. 

A  letter  written  before  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
this  sacrifice  is  not  without  interest,  as  it  shows  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  boy,  and  we  can  the  better  under- 
stand the  effort  that  it  cost  him  to  give  up  all  hope  of 
being  a  soldier: 

CHARLES   TO    HIS   FATHER. 

"  Williamsburg,  April  9,  1847. 
"According  to  the  most  disinterested  accounts  I  have 
seen  of  the  battle  of  Buena  Yista,  our  gallant  regiment 
has  covered  itself  with  laurels  that  will  never  fade. 
Taylor,  too,  has  shown  himself  to  be  one  of  the  ablest 
tacticians  the  world  has  ever  produced.  Twelve 
months  ago  you  thought  him  one  of  the  most  egregious 
fools  that  ever  headed  an  army.  I  recollect  saying  to 
you  at  the  time  that  there  was  no  officer,  in  my  opinion, 
who  could  better  represent  the  true  character  of  the 
American  soldier.  Our  volunteers,  too,  how  much  were 
they  hooted  at,  and  particularly  their  commanding 
officers !  The  mortality  among  our  colonels  in  the  late 
battle  will  show  to  the  world  that  the  highest  compli- 
ment that  can  be  paid  to  any  soldier,  whether  regular 
or  volunteer,  is  to  say  that  he  is  equal  to  an  American 
volunteer  colonel.  Out  of  six  colonels  that  we  had  on 
the  field  five  were  either  killed  or  wounded,  and  every 
one  who  was  not  instantaneously  killed  fought  lying 
on  his  back.  After  this  battle  we  may  all  be  proud  to 
say  that  we  are  Mississippians.  Look  at  the  veteran 
coolness  with  which  they  l^eceived  the  charge  of  the 
Mexican  cavalry.  Look  at  the  Southern  impetuosity 
with  which  they  threw  themselves  into  every  danger- 
ous position.  The  killed  and  wounded  all  go  to  prove 
it.     Out  of  four  hundred,  one  hundred  and  fifty  were 


A   SOUTHERN  PLANTER.  129 

either  killed  or  wounded,  a  loss  almost  unparalleled. 
Her  gloiy  has  cost  her  much,  but  to  have  lost  her 
honor  would  have  been  an  expense  far  greater.  The 
Raymond  Fencibles,  from  the  list  of  her  killed  and 
wounded,  has  suffered  greatly,  and  may  truly  be  said 
to  have  performed  its  duty, — nearly  half  either  killed 
or  wounded,  perhaps  more  than  half.  I  do  not  know 
how  small  it  was  at  the  battle.  Judging  from  the 
regiment,  which  was  nine  hundred  and  thirty  when  I 
was  at  Yicksburg,  and  now  only  four  hundred,  I  think 
that  more  than  half  were  killed.  Downing  I  do  not 
suppose  was  there;  perhaps  for  the  best;  he  might  have 
been  killed.  He  distinguished  himself  at  Monterey,  so 
much  so  that  General  Taylor  mentioned  him  in  his 
despatches.  Your  epaulettes  and  sash  could  not  have 
been  intrusted  in  better  hands.  .  .  .  Vera  Cruz  is  re- 
ported to  be  taken ;  if  so,  we  will  certainly  get  to 
Mexico  now,  unless  the  Mexicans  sue  for  peace  very 
shortly.  General  Scott  is  pushing  ahead  very  rapidly: 
We  are  certainly  a  land  of  soldiers.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  already  told  you,  I  know,  my  dear  father, 
about  the  war  news,  and  told  you  only  those  things 
that  you  knew.  But  you  must  excuse  me.  I  know 
that  had  I  been  with  you  I  should  certainly  have 
talked  in  the  same  way.  I  have  no  one  here  to  talk  to 
me  about  the  Mississippi  regiment,  and  therefore  I 
have  to  write  you  whatever  I  want  to  say  about  it. 
Perhaps  the  Raymond  Gazette  may  contain  a  more  de- 
tailed account  of  the  conduct  of  the  Eaymond  Fen- 
cibles. If  you  have  it  I  would  be  very  glad  for  you  to 
send  it  to  me.  You  have  no  idea  how  much  interest  I 
take  in  everything  connected  with  that  company.  .  .  . 

"I  do  not  think  that  I  will  ever  come  here  again. 
There  is  too  much  frolicking  and  too  much  to  attract 
one's  attention.  There  are  three  or  four,  or  sometimes 
fifteen,  drunken  students  here  a  day.  As  far  as  the 
faculty  is  concerned,  it  is  second  to  no  college  in 
America,  but  a  great  deal  more  depends  on  the  student 
than  on  the  professors.  It  matters  not  how  learned 
the  professors  are,  if  the  students  frolic  they  will  not 
learn  much.  .  .  . 


130     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

"  I  wish  most  seriously  that  I  had  gone  as  a  private 
in  the  Raymond  Fencibles.  ...  I  can  learn  how  to  be 
a  fine  soldier,  which  is  all  that  I  want  to  be."  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XL 

HOME   LIFE. 


It  was  just  after  the  close  of  the  war  with  Mexico — 
in  the  summer  of  1848 — that  General  Zachary  Taylor, 
who  had  been  nominated  by  the  Whigs  for  the  Presi- 
dency, and  was  travelling  from  point  to  point,  came  to 
Pass  Christian. 

Our  father's  well-known  and  stanch  Whig  principles 
clearly  entitled  him  to  take  a  leading  part  in  the  politi- 
cal demonstrations  which  were  here  held  in  honor  of 
the  victorious  general ;  and  he  was,  accordingly,  made 
chairman  of  the  committee  of  reception.  After  meet- 
ing him  at  the  boat,  he  brought  him  in  his  private  car- 
riage to  his  own  house,  which  was  at  that  time  one  of 
the  largest  in  the  village,  and  singularly  well  adapted 
(with  its  veranda  stretching  seventy  feet  along  the 
front  and  proportionally  wide)  to  accommodate  the 
throng  of  people  who  were  to  come  on  the  morrow  to 
he  presented  to  General  Taylor.  The  following  morn- 
ing at  an  early  hour  the  visitors  began  to  arrive,  of 
both  sexes  and  of  all  ages, — in  carriages,  wagons,  on 
horseback,  on  foot,  and  in  boats.  All  day  long  as  they 
came,  they  were  received  by  Thomas  and  introduced 
to  the  general,  and  after  a  little  time  had  been  allowed 
for  conversation,  were  invited  to  the  refreshment- 
tables. 

With  unflagging  zeal  throughout  this  summer's  day 
he  looked  after  the  welfare  and  saw  to  the  comfort  of 
all  who  came.  If  he  singled  out  any  one  and  showed 
him  any  special  attention,  it  was  the  humblest  there, 
— a  lad,  whose  poor  old  mother  dwelt  in  a  dilapidated 
hut,  and  whose  worldly  possessions  could  well  have 


HOME  LIFE.  131 

been  represented  by  zero.      Him   he   led   up   to   the 

general,  saying,  "  Allow  me  to  introduce  to  you , 

the  son  of  my  old  friend,  Mrs. .     Who  knows  but 

what  he,  too,  may  not  be  a  candidate  for  the  highest 
office  within  the  gift  of  the  people?"  General  Taylor, 
after  cordially  shaking  hands  with  the  lad,  put  his  hand 
on  his  head,  and  in  the  kindest  tones  said,  "  Yes,  my  son, 
to  him  who  earnestly  strives  all  things  are  possible." 

The  hero  of  many  a  hotly-contested  battle  won  the 
hearts  of  us  children  (for  most  of  us  were  children  in 
1848)  by  his  guileless  ways  and  simple,  unaffected 
manners. 

There  came  with  him  his  suite,  consisting  of  Colonel 
Craughn,  a  gray-headed  veteran,  who,  when  a  young 
officer,  at  the  head  of  but  forty  men,  had  obstinately 
and  victoriously  held  a  log  fort  against  the  repeated 
assaults  of  hundreds  of  hostile  Indians,  and  Major 
Garnett,  then  a  brave  and  handsome  young  soldier, 
who  afterwards,  having  risen  to  the  rank  of  general, 
fell  fighting  gallantly  for  his  section  in  the  late  civil 
war.  And  in  addition  to  these  two,  his  own  son,  Cap- 
tain Richard  Taylor,  who,  in  the  same  war,  rose  to 
eminence  by  reason  of  his  gallantry  and  ability.* 

Thomas  had  all  the  nursery,  as  well  as  the  older  chil- 
dren, to  go  to  the  pier  to  see  General  Taylor  land. 
Some  of  the  little  ones  became  alarmed  at  the  crowd 
and  the  shouting  and  began  to  cry.  Thomas  took  a 
child  on  each  arm,  and,  with  a  third  clinging  to  his 
leg,  received  the  hero  of  Mexico.  The  old  soldier  had 
a  father's  heart  under  his  rough  exterior.  He  kissed 
the  little  trio  amid  the  waving  of  hats  and  cheers  of 
the  hundreds  gathered  to  welcome  him. 

During  his  visit  to  Thomas  an  incident  occurred  that 
amused  him. 

He  served  one  of  the  little  girls  sitting  near  him  at 
table  to  butter,  on  which  she  frankly  informed  him  that 
her  mamma  had  forbidden  her  to  eat  that  butter,  that 
it  was  intended  for  him.  The  good-natured  general 
led  the  laugh  that  followed  this  little  disclosure. 

*  The  above  account  of  General  Taylor's  visit  was  written  by  Edward. 


132      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

He  was  reminded  by  this,  he  said,  of  a  little  scene 
that  he  had  witnessed  at  a  house  in  which  he  was  a 
visitor.  Happening  to  look  out  of  his  bedroom  window 
before  going  down  to  breakfast,  he  saw  a  lady  explain- 
ing to  her  child  how  she  was  to  behave  herself,  "for 
General  Taylor  is  here,"  she  said,  and  she  was  empha- 
sizing her  instructions  by  shaking  a  switch  over  the 
youngster's  head. 

During  the  week  in  the  Pass  Christian  house  he  said 
many  interesting  things.  One  day  he  spoke  of  the  im- 
possibility of  satisfying  people  in  this  world,  and  illus- 
trated it  with  an  incident  in  his  own  experience.  Hear- 
ing an  old  and  favorite  negro  servant  of  his  say  that 
she  would  be  perfectly  happy  if  she  had  a  hundred 
dollars,  he  gave  a  hundred  dollars  to  her.  As  he  left 
the  room,  ho  heard  her  say  regretfully,  "I  wish  that  I 
had  said  two  hundred." 

MRS.  MACON  TO  HER  SON  THOMAS  DABNET. 

"Mount  Prospect,  October  5,  1848. 

"  That  you  have  been  highly  complimented  by  Gen- 
eral Taylor's  marked  attention  to  you  there  can  be  no 
doubt,  and  I  congratulate  you  on  the  event.  But,  my 
son,  take  care.  Flattery  is  an  intoxicating  draft :  we 
all  like  it ;  but,  although  sweet  to  the  taste,  it  some- 
times leaves  a  bitter  behind  it.  Cardinal  Wolsey  said 
too  much  honor  would  sink  a  navy.  Dryden  said  honor 
is  an  empty  bubble.  So  that  too  much  importance 
should  not  be  attached  to  it." 

MRS.  MACON  TO  HER  SON  THOMAS  DABNET. 

"Mount  Prospect,  November  25,  1848. 

...  "I  congratulate  you  and  my  country  on  General 
Taylor's  election,  and  trust  and  hope  our  halcyon  days 
are  returning.  .  .  .  The  longer  I  live  the  less  I  think 
of  earthly  honors.  General  Taylor  is  a  great  man,  and 
I  hope  he  will  honor  the  Presidency.  It  will  not  honor 
him,  I  think,  after  the  scoundrels  that  pi"eceded  him. 
Only  think  of  the  changes  in  our  country!  I  lived  in 
the  days  that  wise  patriots  ruled.     Such  men  as  we 


HOME  LIFE.  133 

Lave  in  high  offices  now  are  not  fit  for  door-keepers  for 
them.  In  my  day  the  suffrages  of  the  people  was  a 
sure  sign  that  the  person  voted  for  was  worthy  the 
trust  given  him,  and  now  it  is  only  a  sign  that  the 
people  are  corrupt,  and  choose  one  of  their  own  sort  to 
help  them  out  in  their  corruption. 

...  "I  want  to  know  the  name  of  your  daughter." 

It  was  not  surprising  that  one  who  had  known 
Genei*al  "Washington  personally,  and  to  whom  he  was 
"Cousin  George,"  should  find  the  times  degenerate 
under  some,  at  least,  of  his  successors. 

The  little  girl  referred  to  was  Ida,  born  this  fall. 

CHARLES   TO    HIS    MOTHER. 
"University  op  Virginia,  All-Fools'  Day,  1849. 

..."  I  think  father  did  precisely  right  in  not  recom- 
mending any  one  to  General  Taylor ;  for  to  recommend 
a  person,  however  worthy  he  may  be,  to  another  upon 
whom  you  have  no  claim  is  a  very  delicate  thing.  1 
suppose  Mr.  Mayson  is  getting  on  well  with  the  chil- 
dren. You  have  not  mentioned  anything  about  them 
of  late.  Tell  the  boys  if  they  study  hard  now  they  will 
not  find  much  difficulty  at  college.  Just  get  their 
minds  in  good  training  and  half  the  battle  is  accom- 
plished. There  are  many  young  men  here  who  have 
very  good  minds  who  cannot  study.  It  is  all  owing  to 
their  not  mastering  their  minds  when  young.  That  is 
an  advantage  which  I  have  over  many.  My  mind  has 
always  been  completely  under  my  control  and  well 
trained,  though  most  unprofitably  and  unphilosophically 
employed  while  I  was  at  school.  .  .  .  Remember  me  to 
old  Grannie  Harriet.  I  know  that  it  will  please  the 
old  lady  to  know  that  I  often  think  of  her." 

Some  time  after  this  Mrs.  Lewis  Chamberlayne  wrote 
to  Charles :  "  Your  father  has  just  written  me  of  the 
death  of  old  Harriet.  He  wrote  of  it  as  of  the  death 
of  an  old  friend." 

The  almost  fatherly  feeling  of  this  young  brother  of 
12 


134     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SO  UTHERN  PLANTER. 

nineteen  for  his  younger  brothers  and  sisters  is  shown 
in  his  letters  at  this  period. 

CHARLES   TO    HIS   FATHER. 

"  Montrose,  August  2,  1849. 

"I  promised  that  you  should  hear  from  me  again  on 
the  same  subject,  and  that  I  would  endeavor  to  give 
some  reasons  why  boys  should  be  sent  to  a  public  school 
a  year  or  two  before  entering  college. 

"  First  of  all,  confined  at  home  as  I  was,  and  as  I 
suppose  my  younger  brothers  will  be  if  they  follow  the 
same  course,  they  must  necessarily  be  ignorant  of  the 
world,  and  also  inexperienced  in  resisting  the  many 
temptations  which  await  them  when  they  come  forth. 
They  go  immediately  to  college,  the  worst  of  all  places, 
— a  place  in  which  vice  appears  in  its  most  alluring 
and  irresistible  form.  The  transition  is  too  sudden, — 
from  a  nursery  to  a  college  where  they  are  treated  as 
men,  and  where  they  feel  it  incumbent  on  themselves  to 
act  as  such.  Mistaken  though  in  what  they  think  be- 
comes a  man,  how  can  it  be  expected  that  in  ninety- 
nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  they  will  not  be  guilty  of 
the  most  foolish  excesses?  By  what  I  have  said  I 
merely  intend  to  give  you  a  faint  conception  of  what 
my  feelings  were  when  I  went  to  college.  I  was  cer- 
tainly very  ignorant  of  many  things,  which  the  sim- 
plicity of  my  first  letters  plainly  indicates,  which  things 
I  would  have  known  had  I  gone  to  a  public  school  or 
mixed  much  in  society. 

"  In  the  second  place,  boys  educated  at  home  never 
go  as  well  prepared  in  their  studies.  You  can  rarely  find 
a  single  person  (one  person)  able  to  prepare  bo}Ts  in  Latin, 
Greek,  mathematics,  and  French  sufficiently  to  enter  a 
high  class  in  a  college  of  high  standing.  College  is 
no  place  to  learn  the  rudiments  of  anything.  It  is  ex- 
pected that  the  boys  should  know  them  before  they  go. 
Consequently,  they  are  not  taught  with  any  particular 
care.  I  knew  a  good  deal  of  Latin  and  Creek  when  I 
went  to  college,  but  the  inside  of  a  mathematical  or 
French  book  I  had  never  seen.  Now,  my  dear  lather, 
you  cannot  but  be  convinced  of  the  insuperable  disad- 


HOME  LIFE.  135 

vantages  under  which  I  entered  college ;  and  you  can- 
not fail  to  pardon  the  warmth  with  which  I  advocate 
the  pursuit  of  a  different  course  with  regard  to  my 
brothers.  However,  if  you  detect  any  error  in  my 
reasoning  I  hope  you  will  not  fail  to  say  so.  I  know 
that  I  am  not  infallible.  I  have  often  thought  wrong 
and  done  wrong,  and  been  utterly  unconscious  of  it  at 
the  time.  I  hope  you  will  not  think  that  I  mean  to 
blame  any  one  with  regard  to  the  course  that  was  pur- 
sued by  me.  (Yes,  I  do  blame  Mr.  Gr.  for  pretending  I 
to  prepare  me  for  college  when  he  never  had  seen  the 
inside  of  one.)  I  know  that  it  was  your  overfondness 
for  me  which  made  you  keep  me  at  home  as  long  as 
you  could.  I  am  sensible,  too,  that  you  spared  no  pains 
to  have  me  prepared  in  the  very  best  way,  and  that 
you  conscientiously  believed  that  the  one  you  had 
marked  out  was  the  very  best, — as  it  certainly  was  the 
most  expensive.  The  great  care,  then,  with  which  you 
have  watched  over  my  education, — the  many  hours  of 
solicitude  which  I  have  cost  you, — all  these,  my  dear 
father,  conspire  to  make  me  still  more  sensible  of  what 
I  owe  you,  and  to  incite  me  to  still  greater  exertions ; 
but,  should  the  realization  of  my  loftiest  hopes  be  at- 
tained, I  trust  that  I  shall  not  be  so  narrow-minded  as 
to  believe  that  my  debt  is  wholly  paid.  Under  these 
circumstances,  then,  you  cannot  fail  to  pardon  me  for 
so  much  deploring  the  many  disadvantages  under  which 
I  entered  the  grand  arena  of  education,  and  for  lament- 
ing that  I  cannot  prove  myself  as  worthy  as  I  would 
wish  of  your  great  confidence  and  affection.  I  shall 
make  the  attempt  to  come  up  to  your  expectations, — 
in  such  a  noble  cause  defeat  itself  will  be  glorious." 

CHARLES   TO    HIS   FATHER. 

"University  op  Virginia,  September  29,  1849. 

..."  I  am  truly  glad  that  Sarah  has  been  put  with  \ 
a  governess.  I  have  not  been  as  much  pleased  at  any- 
thing in  a  long  time.  She  ought  to  have  every  advan- 
tage. There  is  a  magnificence,  a  loftiness  of  character 
about  her  that  I  never  saw  in  a  child,  and  I  can  hardly 
say  in  a  grown  person.      She  is  bound  to  be  a  great 


136     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

woman,  though  she  may  live  in  retirement.  I  think 
that  her  traits  of  chai'acter  are  more  prominent  than 
those  of  any  child  I  ever  saw.  Let  her,  then,  have  every 
opportunity ;  and  do  not  think  that  because  she  is  a 
woman  any  kind  of  education  will  be  sufficient  for  her 
to  keep  house.  I  know  you  do  not  think  this,  yet  there 
are  many  who  constantly  say  that  a  woman  ought  not 
to  be  well  educated, — that  any  kind  of  education  will 
be  enough  for  a  housekeeper,  and  that  a  very  intelli- 
gent and  accomplished  woman  is  likely  to  make  a  bad 
wife.  Of  course  those  who  say  this  possess  the  most 
narrow,  grovelling,  and  contemptible  souls,  which  will 
never  soar  beyond  their  own  self-importance.  And  if 
an  educated  woman  does  not  make  a  good  wife,  it  is 
because  the  man  who  received  her  hand  was  unworthy 
of  it,  and  because  it  was  the  hand  of  a  slave,  and  not 
of  a  wife  and  an  equal,  that  was  the  object  of  his  desire. 
My  thus  defending  the  fair  sex  will  be  ascribed  to  my 
age.     I  have  no  particular  one  in  view." 

CHARLES    TO    HIS   FATHER. 

"  University  op  Virginia,  March  5,  1850. 

"  I  was  not  introduced  to  General  Taylor.  It  would 
have  afforded  me  gi*eat  pleasure ;  but  he  was  to  be  there 
so  short  a  time,  his  presence  was  such  a  novelty,  he 
had  done  so  much  shaking  of  hands,  and  must  have 
been  so  tired,  that  I  could  not  force  myself  into  his 
presence  under  the  belief  that  there  was  a  possibility 
that  the  addition  of  any  company  whatsoever  would 
be  agreeable.  Dr.  Chamberlayne  was  introduced  to 
him  on  the  night  of  the  21st  inst.,  and  the  old  general 
spoke  of  you,  mother  and  the  children  with  enthu- 
siasm. ...  I  have  noticed  the  Whig  and  Democratic 
parties  very  nai'rowly  for  the  last  month,  and  have  come 
to  this  conclusion  without  hesitation,  viz.,  that  there 
is  not  any  difference  at  all  between  them.  If  you 
ask  a  Democrat  why  he  had  rather  Cass  should  have 
been  elected  than  Taylor,  he  will  say,  Because  he  is 
safer  on  the  Wilmot  proviso.  If  you  ask  a  Whig,  he 
will  say  that  Tajdor  is  the  safer.  The  United  States 
Bank  is  dead  forever.     They  differ,  you  see,  only  with 


HOME  LIFE.  137 

regard  to  men.  .  .  .  Those  two  men,*  should  there  be 
a  dissolution,  will  obtain  the  direction  of  affairs  in  the 
Southern  republic.  Calhoun  has  been  at  the  point  of 
death  for  some  time,  but  I  believe  and  sincerely  trust 
that  he  is  now  better.  He  is  the  greatest  statesman  in 
America,  and  Lord  Brougham  says  that  we  can  only 
do  him  justice  if  we  say  in  the  world,  not  such  an  orator 
as  Henry  Clay,  but  as  far  above  him  as  the  great  orb 
of  heaven  is  above  the  glow-worm, — in  purity  resem- 
bling Washington,  in  intellect  Jefferson.  I  am  so  glad 
that  you  have  a  portrait  of  him." 

In  May  of  the  year  1850  the  last  son  was  born,  and 
received  his  father's  name,  Thomas  Smith. 

SOPHIA   DABNET   TO   HER   SON   CHARLES. 

"  October,  1851. 

"  I  shall  enclose^  Sarah's  last  letter  to  you.  I  know 
it  will  please  you,  although  it  is  not  as  good  as  some 
of  her  other  letters.  You  must  write  to  her  occasion- 
ally, and  give  her  your  best  advice,  both  as  to  her 
studies  and  as  to  her  conduct  in  society ;  advice  from 
an  older  brother  always  seems  so  interesting.  Sarah 
will  highly  appreciate  any  advice  from  you,  she  is  so 
much  attached  to  you." 

SOPHIA   DABNET   TO    HER   SON   CHARLES. 

"January  14,  1852. 

.  .  .  "Busybody  is  sitting  by  me,  every  now  and  then 
putting  the  cork  in  the  inkstand  and  begging  for 
candy." 

SOPHIA   DABNET   TO    HER   SON   CHARLES. 

"Burleigh,  May  4,  1852. 

"I  am  truly  thankful  that  I  am  able  to  write  to  you. 
...  I  was  so  unwell  before  the  birth  of  my  baby  that 
I  did  not  think  it  prudent  for  me  to  write.  I  had 
a  great   deal  of  headache,  and   it  was   increased   by 

*  Jefferson  Davis  and  John  C.  Calhoun. 
12* 


138     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

writing.  Often  I  felt  a  great  desire  to  tell  you  what 
was  going  on  here,  for  I  knew  that  none  of  them  knew 
how  intex-esting  it  would  be  to  you  as  well  as  I  did. 
Nobody  knows  you  as  I  do.  I  know  you  as  well  as  I 
know  myself.  .  .  .  Ben  says  he  loves  his  brother 
Charles  better  than  all  his  brothers.  He  says  that  he 
intends  to  live  with  you.  ...  I  must  tell  you  that 
Sarah  and  Sue  waited  on  me  with  so  much  kindness, 
kept  everything  so  quiet,  that  enabled  me  to  get  well 
so  quickly.  I  can  go  to  the  table  now.  My  daughters 
have  been  great  comforts  to  me.  I  do  not  think  I 
shall  regret  that  the  youngest  is  a  daughter.  I  call 
her  Lelia." 

CHARLES    FROM    HIS   MOTHER. 

"May  27,  1852. 

.  .  .  "The  girls  and  boys  have  not  returned  from  Mr. 
Mayson's  wedding.  JSTo  doubt  they  will  have  a  great 
deal  to  write  to  you,  for  your  papa  returned  yester- 
day, and  seemed  perfectly  charmed  with  everything 
and  everybody.  He  says  that  Sarah  and  Sue  looked 
very  well,  and  a  great  deal  of  attention  was  paid  them. 
They  were  perfectly  at  their  ease,  like  young  ladies,  at 
the  same  time  as  modest  as  possible.  They  were 
dressed  beautifully, — that  is,  plain  and  elegant.  They 
had  their  hair  dressed  by  the  hair-dresser  at  the  hotel. 
.  .  .  The  bride's  mother  said  to  your  papa  that  she 
hoped  Mr.  Mayson  would  like  her  family  as  much  as  he 
did  ours.  I  suppose  that  Sarah  and  Sue  have  given  you 
an  account  of  the  old  bachelor,  Colonel  Hemingway. 
He  seems  to  know  everybody.  Mr.  Dabnej1"  says  that 
he  stuck  to  the  'two  misses,'  as  he  called  Sarah  and 
Sue,  and  paid  every  attention  that  was  necessary.  .  .  . 
I  have  been  very  nervous  and  weak  since  the  birth  of 
my  little  daughter,  but  I  think  I  am  getting  better.  I 
am  driving  out  every  day;  that  will  restore  me  very 
soon." 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS  SON  CHARLES. 

"  Burleigh,  30th  May,  1852. 

.  .  .  "The  children  returned  from  Jackson  yesterday 
in  high  glee,  having  been  sufficiently  attended  to  even 
had  they  been  grown.     They  were  called  upon  by  the 


HOME  LIFE.  139 

governor's  family,  but  were  unfortunately  at  Mrs.  Saun- 
ders's boarding-bouse  at  the  time.  They  called  at  the 
governor's  mansion,  and  were  equally  unfortunate  then, 
for  the  ladies  were  paying  their  respects  to  the  bride 
at  that  hour.  I  will  mention  one  more  circumstance 
in  connection  with  j^our  little  sisters  of  a  very  pleasant 
character.  Mrs.  Foote  said  that  she  wished  me  to  in- 
troduce her  to  my  daughters  (this  was  at  the  wedding), 
to  which  I  replied  that  they  would  highly  appreciate 
the  honor  ;  and  I  was  about  to  go  after  them,  when 
she  stopped  me,  and  insisted  upon  being  taken  to  them, 
they  being  in  the  other  room  at  the  time.  She  accord- 
ingly ran  her  arm  through  mine,  and  was  conducted 
by  me  to  them  and  introduced.  The  governor  made 
me  take  him  to  them  also,  and  he  did  not  omit  to  express 
his  admiration  of  them  in  very  marked  terms. 

"  I  am  happy  to  say  to  you,  also,  that  the  brothers 
were  no  discredit  to  the  sisters.  I  had  sent  the  boys 
to  Vicksburg  to  rig  out  for  the  occasion,  and  they  did  not 
fail  to  do  it  brown.  .  .  .  And  they  conducted  themselves 
with  sufficient  ease  for  boys  of  their  age." 

This  wedding  of  our  favorite  tutor,  Charles  Mayson, 
was  a  real  episode  in  our  childhood.  It  was  our  first 
experience  of  going  from  home  to  anything  like  an 
evening  company.  Mr.  Mayson  had  come  from  Jack- 
son expressly  to  beg  that  his  former  pupils  might  be 
allowed  to  attend  his  marriage,  as  he  felt  that  on  ac- 
count of  their  youth  an  invitation  would  hardly  be 
successful  if  sent  by  letter.  As  he  had  foreseen,  our 
mother  was  unwilling  to  trust  children  brought  up  in 
so  secluded  a  way  at  a  large  fashionable  wedding.  But, 
to  our  delight,  he  overruled  all  objections,  and  we  were 
allowed  to  go.  These  letters  give  a  quaint  description 
of  the  appearance  and  behavior  of  the  party  seen 
through  the  medium  of  our  parents'  eyes. 

CHARLES  TO  HIS  FATHER. 
.   /  "  Cambridge,  June,  1852. 

"  The  late  nomination  of  the  Whig  party  is  such  that 
it  must  strike  the  mind  of  every  one.     It  shows  a  dis- 


140      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

position  on  the  part  of  the  Northern  Whigs  which  I 
had  hoped  did  not  exist.  It  was  the  triumph  of  section 
over  section, — of  Northern  majority  over  Southern 
minority.  It  has  thrown  a  gloom  over  the  face  of 
nearly  every  Whig  student  in  college,  and  nine-tenths 
of  the  students,  I  believe,  are  Whigs.  All,  I  may  say, 
deplore  the  nomination  of  General  Scott  as  the  ruin  of 
the  Whig  party  and  as  the  forerunner  in  all  probability 
of  new  internal  difficulties.  All  that  remains  now  for 
us  to  do  is  to  try  our  best  to  defeat  him.  I  was  proud 
to  see  the  South  so  united  in  her  opposition  to  him  and 
in  her  advocacy  of  Mr.  Fillmore.  While  she  continues 
thus  in  harmony  the  worst  that  can  happen  will  be  at 
least  unattended  with  dishonor.  On  the  first  ballot 
you  remember  the  South  was  unanimously  for  Mr.  Fill- 
more with  the  exception  of  one  vote  from  "Virginia  for 
General  Scott.  She  held  on  to  her  favorite  up  to  the 
forty-eighth  ballot,  when  Scott  gained  four  from  the 
South, — two  from  Virginia  (making  three  in  all  from 
that  State)  and  two  from  Missouri.  Then  it  was  that 
the  nefarious  game  was  decided.  Even  on  the  final 
ballot  there  were  only  thirteen  from  the  South  that  de- 
serted a  cause  which  should  have  had  no  deserters. 
The  infamy  which  those  men  deserve  who  insisted  in 
forcing  upon  the  country  a  man  whom  I  may  say  one- 
half  of  it  unanimously  opposed,  cannot  be  heaped  upon 
them  sufficiently  high  by  one  generation,  but  the  work 
must  be  left  unfinished,  and  the  completion  of  it  be- 
queathed as  a  legacy  to  posterity. 

"It  is  my  opinion,  as  well  as  that  of  many  others, 
as  I  have  already  stated,  that  the  nomination  of  Gen- 
eral Scott  portends  evil  to  the  country.  God  save  us 
from  his  election !  The  Northern  abolitionists  and 
Western  Freesoilers  advocated  him  because  they  are  in 
hopes  that,  in  case  he  is  elected,  he  will  be  made  a  tool 
of  by  some  of  their  party.  They  are  dissatisfied  with 
the  just  administration  and  unconquerable  impartiality 
of  Mr.  Fillmore.  For  them  he  has  no  sympathy,  with 
him  they  have  no  influence.  But  here  is  a  man  whose 
individual  conceit  and  vanity  will  make  him  believe 
anything  provided   it   is   accompanied   with   flattery. 


HOME  LIFE.  141 

With  him,  then,  there  is  a  chance — more  particularly 
as  it  was  they  who  supported  him — of  succeeding  in 
all  their  plans,  of  alienating  one  section  of  the  Union 
from  the  other.  General  Scott  a  compromise  man  !  I 
doubt  that  most  considerably,  notwithstanding  his 
having  accepted  the  platform.  And  even  if  he  is.  he 
resembles  a  vast  majority  of  the  people  of  the  United 
States.  It  was  certainly  not  on  account  of  his  favor- 
ing the  Compromise  more  than  all  others  that  he  was 
selected.  Millard  Fillmore  is  a  compromise  man, — a 
strong  compromise  man.  He  has  given  every  evidence 
of  it,  and  the  South  has  shown  its  gratitude  and  its 
high  appreciation  of  his  services  by  clinging  to  him  so 
long  and  with  so  much  unanimity.  Then  it  must  be 
that  the  Freesoilers  and  abolitionists  believe  at  least 
that  by  means  of  General  Scott's  weakness  they  can 
get  possession  of  him  and  take  the  government  into 
their  own  hands.  They  could  not  advocate  the  drop- 
ping a  man  so  firmly  adhering  to  the  compromise  on 
any  other  grounds.  If  Mr.  Fillmore  is  not  as  popular 
as  General  Scott  it  must  be  because  his  cause  is  not  popular. 
If  his  cause  is  not  popular,  farewell  to  the  Union.  Mil- 
lard Fillmore  and  the  Union  are  one.  If  he  has  been 
guilty  of  partiality  to  the  South,  the  South  will  always 
continue  to  demand  that  partiality,  let  the  President  be 
who  he  may.  If  it  is  not  accorded,  why,  the  South 
must  withdraw  that  authority  which  it  has  delegated. 
"  The  news  of  the  nomination  was  received  in  Boston 
with  hisses,  groans,  and  oaths.  I  shall  send  you  a  paper 
containing  an  account  of  it.  But  with  these  Webster 
Wbigs  I  have  no  sympathy.  They  could  at  any  time 
have  thrown  the  scale  in  Mr.  Fillmore's  favor.  Instead 
of  that,  they  were  constantly  sending  despatch  after 
despatch  to  Boston  saying  that  the  Fillmore  men  were 
all  wavering,  and  that  in  a  short  time  they  would  unite 
with  the  Webster  men ;  that  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
three  men  were  going  to  abandon  their  favorite — their 
idol — to  advocate  another  man  who  only  had  twenty- 
nine  votes !  and  not  a  single  one  from  the  South.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  anything  so  absurd,  so  preposterous, 
so  unfounded,  so  unreasonable  ?     With  the  fact  staring 


142     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

them  in  the  face  of  one  hundred  and  thirty-nine  or 
thereabouts  supporting  Mr.  Fillmore,  and  continuing 
to  support  him  for  upwai'ds  of  forty  ballots,  tbey  were 
still  infatuated  enough  and  foolish  enough  to  tbink  tbat 
the  Fillmore  men  were  going  to  desert  him  and  advo- 
cate their  man ;  a  man  wbo  never  saw  the  day  when 
he  was  popular, — a  man  who  never  saw  the  day  wben 
he  could  create  tbe  least  excitement  or  enthusiasm  in 
tbe  nation,  unless  it  was  when  he  met  and  overt  hi*ew 
Hayne,  of  South  Carolina,  on  the  floor  of  tbe  Senate. 
I  do  not  say  tbat  he  created  any  excitement  or  enthu- 
siasm then,  but  I  say  that  if  he  did  not  do  it  then,  he 
never  has  done  it  at  all.  When  I  say  that  Mr.  Webster 
'  never  saw  the  day  when  he  was  popular,'  I  mean  that 
he  never  saw  the  day  when  he  was  the  first  choice  of 
even  a  tolerable  portion  of  his  party.  Was  not  I  right, 
then,  in  saying  that  reason  did  not  reside  among  the 
New  England,  and  especially  among  the  Boston,  people  ? 
Was  I  not  right  in  saying  that  the  publication  of  the 
letter  of  a  reasonable  man,  a  patriot  and  a  Whig,  would 
be  of  no  avail  among  such  a  people  ?  I  deeply  regret 
that  I  proved  so  good  a  prophet, — so  far  am  I  from 
congratulating  myself.  At  the  time  that  I  said  what  I 
did  about  the  Boston  people  I  was  excited,  and  intended 
acknowledging  it  to  you  as  soon  as  you  had  received 
that  letter.  The  reason  of  my  being  excited  was  the 
fact,  if  I  remember  rightly,  of  my  having  just  been  to 
a  large  abolition  meeting  in  the  loyal  city.  Hearing 
such  violent  disunion  and  disgi'aceful  speeches, — seeing 
such  a  tremendous  and  orderly  audience  of  citizens, — 
and  that  in  the  da}7time, — for  if  a  Yankee  deserts  his 
work  you  may  know  he  is  interested, — I  could  not  help 
being  convinced  that  the  disaffection  towards  the  laws 
and  the  country  was  much  greater  than  we  in  the  South 
are  apt  to  suppose.  Now  I  see  that  the  opinion  I  formed 
under  excitement  is  the  true  one.  You  will  agree  with 
me  too,  I  think. 

"  Your  letter  of  the  8th  June  was  received  yesterday 
morning,  containing  your  address  to  the  Whig  dele- 
gates of  Mississippi.  I  agree  with  you  in  everything 
you  say.     I  not  only  agree  with  you,  but  think  that 


HOME  LIFE.  143 

you  ought  to  have  said  what  you  did  say  and  in  tho 
manner  in  which  you  said  it.  The  delegates  from  Mis- 
sissippi acted  just  as  you  wanted  them  to  act;  whether 
it  was  in  accordance  with  your  advice,  or  with  their 
own  sound  judgment  and  patriotism,  or  with  both,  is  a 
matter  of  no  consequence  at  all.  You  are  satisfied, 
whichever  way  it  may  be,  I  know.  I  showed  your 
address  to  several  of  my  friends,  and  they  liked  it  very 
much;  said  that  it  was  exactly  what  it  should  be.  We 
could  not  help  being  amused,  though,  at  your  com- 
paring the  Presidential  candidates  to  a  party  playing 
loo  or  set-back  euchi'e.  They  all  concurred  that  your 
illustration  was  capital,  and  that  you  showed  an  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  the  game.  ...  I  knew  before 
you  mentioned  it  that  Mr.  Fillmore  was  the  first 
choice  of  the  Whigs  of  Mississippi,  and  believed  that 
Mr.  Webster  was  the  second,  but  it  was  with  great  un- 
willingness that  I  believed  it.  I  had  rather  see  him 
President  than  General  Scott;  but  take  out  the  gen- 
eral and  there  is  not  a  Whig  living  who  stands  on  the 
Compromise  that  I  would  not  rather  see  President 
than  Daniel  Webster.  In  making  an  assertion  like  this 
I  am  not  to  be  understood  as  meaning  any  Whig, 
wherever  you  may  find  him,  but  any  Whig  who  has  suf- 
ficient capacity  to  occupy  the  office,  and  sufficient  de- 
termination to  act  his  own  way,  regulated  by  a  sound 
judgment.  As  a  manufactured  orator,  as  a  man  of 
learning,  and  as  a  lawyer,  I  admire  Mr.  Webster;  but 
I  do  say  that  he  is  great  in  no  sense  of  the  word, 
unless  allusion  is  made  to  his  corporeal  dimensions. 
He  can  follow  when  others  lead,  and  follow  with  con- 
siderable effect,  but  he  cannot  lead.  He  has  not  that 
decision  of  character  and  judgment,  the  necessary  in- 
gredients of  all  great  minds.  Put  him  under  the  con- 
trol of  a  determined  man,  and  Daniel  Webster  will 
appear  to  be  great ;  he  will  make  great  efforts ;  but 
remove  that  control,  and  his  efforts  will  be  like  the 
flounderings  of  a  wounded  whale,  destitute  of  judg- 
ment and  equally  injurious  to  friends  and  foes.  With 
a  mind  capable  of  comprehending  anything,  he  can 
originate  nothing.     In  other  words,  Daniel  Webster 


144     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

would  have  made  a  capital  tool  in  the  hands  of  a 
tyrant.  In  my  'long  letter'  I  said  that  I  thought  Mr. 
Clay  looked  upon  Daniel  Webster  as  a  rival.  I  said  so 
because  Mr.  Clay  has  never  come  out  and  advocated 
Mr.  "Webster's  pretensions  to  the  Presidency,  at  least 
as  far  as  I  know.  You  are  much  more  familiar  with 
Mr.  Clay's  histor3T,  and  of  course  know  whether  he  has 
or  not.  I  do  not  speak  positively  under  such  circum- 
stances. You  say  that  you  do  not  believe  that  Mr. 
Clay  has  ever  honored  mortal  man  so  highly  as  to 
regard  him  as  a  rival.  That  is  a  matter  of  opinion, 
and  cannot  be  determined  either  one  way  or  the  other. 
I  do  say  this  much,  though,  that  if  he  has  ever  re- 
garded Mr.  Webster  as  a  rival  his  jealousy  was  mis- 
placed. There  is  no  comparison  between  the  two  men. 
God  Almighty  made  Henry  Clay ;  Daniel  Webster  made 
Daniel  Webster.  The  greater  workman  has  made  the 
greater  man.  I  think  that  Mr.  Clay  is  the  only  great 
man  now  living  in  America.  When  he  is  gone  we  will 
all  be  on  a  level.  There  cannot,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
be  many  great  men  at  a  time. 

"I  acknowledge  myself  in  error  in  saying  that  'Mr. 
Clay  favored  General  Scott  in  preference  to  Mr.  Fill- 
more.' I  do  not  think  that  I  said  that  exactly.  As 
well  as  I  remember  it  was  this:  that  'Mr.  Clay  favored 
General  Scott.'  I  did  not  mean  at  all  to  throw  out  the 
insinuation  that  he  was  opposed  to  Mr.  Fillmore,  but  I 
meant  that  he  had  no  objection  to  General  Scott.  Some 
years  ago  he  recommended  the  general  in  a  letter  to  somo 
one  or  some  convention.  I  do  not  remember  the  occa- 
sion. He  has  spoken  of  General  Scott  frequently  as  being 
a  fit  man  for  the  Presidency.  In  his  letter,  published 
some  six  or  eight  weeks  ago  (I  have  not  seen  it),  he  rec- 
ommends, so  I  am  told,  Mr.  Fillmore,  because  he  has  done 
his  duty  and  given  satisfaction ;  because  he  thinks  it 
right  to  'let  well  enough  alone.'  But  for  these  circum- 
stances I  am  certain,  as  far  as  a  man  can  be  of  such  a 
thing,  that  General  Scott  would  be  Mr.  Clay's  first  choice. 
That  letter  of  Mr.  Clay's,  to  which  I  have  just  alluded, 
gave  mortal  offence  to  the  Webster  Whigs  about  here. 
I  have  heard  them  allude  to  it.    They  think  that  it  was 


HOME  LIFE.  145 

written  to  break  down  the  Webster  party,  and  that  but 
for  it  Webster  would  have  been  the  nominee!  That  is 
another  one  of  the  Massachusetts  absurdities. 

"In  my  last  letter  to  you  I  predicted  four  things. 
Three  of  them  have  already  come  to  pass:  First,  that 
Mr.  Webster  would  have  scarcely  any  supporters  at  the 
convention  out  of  New  England.  On  the  first  ballot 
(which  is  the  proper  one  for  this  purpose)  Mr.  Webster 
had  only  twenty-nine  votes,  twenty-four  of  which  were 
from  New  England, — eleven  from  Massachusetts.  Sec- 
ond, that  the  South  would  go  for  Mr.  Fillmore  to  a 
man.  She  did  so,  with  the  exception  of  one  vote. 
Third,  that  General  Scott  would  get  the  nomination  by 
means  of  the  Western  and  Northern  States.  The  last 
prediction  remains  to  be  verified,  viz.,  that  the  general 
will  be  beaten,  and  that  his  defeat  will  be  a  victory  to 
his  country.  You  see  I  am  quite  a  prophet,  notwith- 
standing I  do  not  read  newspapers  much. 

"I  was  at  first  just  as  much  shocked  at  the  nomina- 
tion of  the  Democratic  convention  as  I  am  now  at  that 
of  the  Whig,  but  I  am  now  entirely  changed.  For 
General  Pierce  I  have  the  highest  admiration.  Next 
to  Mr.  Fillmore,  whom  we  have  tried,  and  whom  we 
know,  I  had  rather  have  General  Pierce.  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  being  in  General  Pierce's  company  without 
knowing  it.  When  he  received  the  news  of  his  nomi- 
nation he  was  in  Boston.  So  many  persons  called  on 
him  that  the  report  was  started  that  he  had  gone  to 
Baltimore,  whereas  he  had  only  come  out  to  Cam- 
bridge. He  played  the  incognito  admirably.  He  went 
to  the  hotel  where  I  board,  took  a  seat  nearly  opposite 
to  me  at  table,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  we  discussed 
him  in  his  presence.  Not  one  word  was  spoken  in  his 
favor.  All  were  Whigs  with  the  exception  of  two, — 
myself,  who  claim  no  party,  and  a  young  fellow  by  the 
name  of  States  Right  Gist,  of  South  Carolina.  His 
name  reveals  his  politics.  But  I  was  struck  forcibly 
by  the  appearance  of  an  elderly  gentleman  who  sat 
nearly  opposite  to  me,  a  thing  which  has  not  seldom 
happened  to  me.     I  thought  at  the  time  of  sending  a 

waiter  to  him  to  attend  to  him " 

g        k  13 


146      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

The  letter  ends  abruptly  here,  the  other  sheet  on 
which  it  was  continued  having  been  lost,  along  with 
many  valuable  papers  and  other  property,  when  the 
family  left  Burleigh,  as  refugees,  during  the  war. 

Charles  did  send  his  own  waiter  to  attend  to  the 
stranger,  and  did  not  know  till  he  had  left  the  table 
that  he  was  Mr.  Franklin  Pierce. 

CHARLES   TO   VIRGINIUS. 

"  Cambridge,  June,  1852. 

...  "A  few  days  ago  a  fellow  in  the  Freshman  class 
was  expelled  for  ringing  some  church-bell.  He  hired 
a  splendid  carriage  and  four  gray  horses,  and  was 
driven  around  and  through  the  college  yard, — had  his 
hat  off  like  some  distinguished  stranger, — met  all  the 
students  as  they  were  coming  out  of  the  chapel  from 
prayers,  and  they  gave  him  three  tremendous  cheers. 
That  looks  very  much  like  bearding  the  devil.  It 
requires  considerable  audacity  to  do  such  a  thing  in 
broad  daytime  and  in  the  middle  of  a  town.  .  .  .  There 
is  one  thing  of  which  I  feel  quite  certain,  and  that  is 
that  this  place  will  cost  you  about  a  thousand  dollars  a 
year,  including  vacations.  It  will  require  the  most 
rigid  economy  not  to  exceed  that  sum." 

DR.    J.    A.    SMITH   TO   CHARLES. 

..."  For  no  one  ever  arrives  at  eminence  in  this 
world,  or,  at  any  rate,  the  exceptions  are  too  rare  to  be 
taken  into  the  account,  without  proposing  to  himself 
some  great  object  of  which  he  is  to  think  every  day 
and  nearly  all  day, — filling,  it  may  be,  his  dreams  at 
night.  He  must  passively  submit  to  every  needful 
privation  and  actively  surmount  for  weeks,  nay,  per- 
haps for  years,  every  obstacle  which  may  perhaps  suc- 
cessively ai'ise  to  foil  his  aspirations.  And  this  is  the 
key  to  the  success  of  enthusiasts,  who  are  thus  enabled, 
when  guided  by  good  sense,  to  overcome  difficulties 
which  to  ordinary  minds  appear  absolutely  insuper- 
able. 

"An  intense  desire,  then,  to  attain  the  end  you  seek 
is  to  be  the  constantly  impelling  motive,  not  only  to 


HOME  LIFE.  147 

urge  you  on  and  to  solace  your  toil,  but  to  strew  your 
path  with  flowers. 

"For,  once  thoroughly  embarked  and  speeding  on- 
ward, you  will  enjoy,  so  far  as  external  pursuits  are 
concerned,  the  greatest  happiness  this  world  affords.  I 
speak  from  some  little  experience,  more  observation, 
and  much  reading.  .  .  . 

"Your  affectionate  uncle, 

"  J.  Aug.  Smith." 

CHARLES    TO    HIS   MOTHER. 

"  Cambridge,  July  24,  1852. 

.  .  .  ""We,  of  course,  saw  the  risk  of  having  our 
rights  challenged,  but  we  determined  to  encounter  it 
in  order  to  hear  such  a  man  as  Winthrop.  I  was  amply 
repaid  for  my  trouble.  He  delivered  the  finest  oration 
I  ever  heard.  It  was  classic  in  the  extreme.  He  took 
a  masterly  view  of  the  different  systems  of  philosophy 
in  the  world,  and  their  practical  effect.  He  showed  the 
great  influence  of  educated  men  in  forming  and  con- 
trolling '  public  opinion,' — the  great  power  of  an  un- 
fettered press,  and  its  results  according  as  it  is  in  the 
hands  of  good  or  bad  men.  Assembled  around  the 
speaker  were  the  different  grandees  of  the  land ;  tbere 
were  Greenleaf  and  Shaw,  of  great  legal  reputation  ; 
Everett,  Sparks,  Quincy;  Thornwell,  the  president  of 
South  Carolina  College,  and  John  S.  Preston,  brother 
of  William  C.  Preston,  of  that  State  ;  the  governor  and 
staff,  and  a  host  of  others,  who  occupy  the  highest  civic 
or  educational  positions  in  the  country.  ...  I  went 
close  to  the  speaker's  chair.  I  heard  Edward  Everett. 
He  is  the  most  graceful  and  elegant  man  I  ever  saw 
in  my  life.  His  gesticulation  and  pronunciation  of 
language  excelled  even  my  ideal  of  what  it  should 
be.  With  a  tall  and  commanding  figure,  light  com- 
plexion, and  brown  hair,  inclined  to  curl,  his  move- 
ments were  as  graceful,  as  smooth,  and  as  noiseless  as 
the  rolling  of  an  ocean  after  a  storm.  After  Mr. 
Everett  spoke  Chief-Justice  Shaw,  of  Massachusetts. 
His  speech  was  legal  in  its  nature.  He  eulogized  his 
calling  and  demonstrated  the  great  benefits  which  re- 


148     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

suited  to  society  from  hanging  a  man.  After  Judge 
Shaw  spoke  Dr.  Fuller,  a  preacher  of  Baltimore.  He 
fired  away  at  the  chief-justice's  speech,  and  showed  that 
hanging  a  man  was  not  the  best  use  to  which  he  could 
be  put, — that  it  was  the  object  of  society  to  prevent 
and  not  to  punish  crime.  Then  came  the  South  Cai*o- 
linians,  Thornwell  and  Preston.  Both  delivered  good 
and  patriotic  speeches,  and  the  audience  gave  six  hearty 
cheers  for  South  Carolina.  There  were  several  other 
speeches  delivered, — good  enough  in  their  way,  but  not 
worthy  of  my  taking  notice  of  them  here.  Old  Quincy 
delivered  a  very  witty  and  amusing  speech.  As  he  is 
one  of  the  distinguished  men  of  Massachusetts,  it  would 
not  do  to  pass  over  him." 

T.    S.    D.    TO    HIS    SON    CHARLES. 

"Burleigh,  29th  October,  1852. 

"The  papers  received  last  night  bring  the  appalling 
intelligence  of  the  death  of  Mr.  Webster.  Thus  has  the 
country  lost  its  two  giants  in  one  year, — within  four 
months,  indeed.  When  Mr.  Clay  died,  great  as  was  the 
nation's  grief,  thei'e  was  yet  a  consolation  in  the  re- 
flection that  Mr.  Webster  was  left  to  us.  But  who  is 
left  now?  Truly,  no  one.  There  is  not  a  living  man 
who  is  capable  of  half  filling  the  shoes  of  him  of 
Marshfield.  I  cannot  conjecture  who  Mr.  Fillmore 
will  appoint  to  the  State  Department,  but  have  no 
doubt  he  will  do  his  best. 

"You  cannot  appreciate  the  force  or  truth  of  my 
expression  that  'no  one'  is  left  to  us,  now  that  Mr. 
Webster  is  dead,  unless  you  will  look  into  the  Demo- 
cratic Review  occasionally,  and  especially  the  number 
for  this  month  (October).  You  will  find  there  that 
'Young  America,'  the  'Party  of  Progress,'  is  sum- 
moned to  the  polls  to  vindicate  the  principles  that 
would  not  have  discredited  a  French  Jacobin  of  the 
last  century.  The  Whigs  are  stigmatized  as  small  men 
Vioith  limited  ideas.  Pierce,  as  the  standard-bearer  of 
'American  progress,'  will,  they  are  assured,  bring  these 
matters  right.  The  matters  to  be  brought  right  are  not 
left  for  conjecture.     They  are  the  seizure  of  Cuba,  the 


HOME  LIFE.  149 

Sandwich  Islands,  the  Northern  fisheries,  Australia, 
Grenada,  Central  America,  Mexico,  and  the  West  In- 
dies! Young  America  is  assured  that  nothing  more 
is  necessary  than  that  they  elect  Pierce,  and  all  of 
these  fair  possessions  will  be  theirs.  The  editor  says, 
by  .way  of  making  the  thing  more  interesting,  I  sup- 
pose, that  we  shall  first  have  to  whip  (his  term  is  that 
we  shall  be  involved  with)  England,  France,  Spain,  and 
Mexico;  but  he  says  that  'private  enterprise'  and  'a 
free  people  will  do  it.'  It  will  be  nothing  but  a  whole- 
some exercise,  it  seems.  The  Whigs  are  small  men 
with  limited  ideas  because  they  cannot  see  their  way 
out  of  such  enterprises,  and  would  not  go  into  them  if 
they  could,  may  be  added.  These  are  but  a  few  of  the 
astounding  propositions  of  this  journal,  and  it  is  the 
leading  Democratic  journal  of  the  Union. 

"Who  can  lash  this  man  and  this  party  with  scoi'- 
pions,  now  that  Mr.  Clay  and  Mr.  Webster  are  dead  ? 
They  could  make  'Young  America'  tremble,  even  when 
Young  America  held  the  helm.  I  should  not  fear  these 
men  much  if  Mr.  Webster  lived,  because,  in  power  or 
out  of  power,  his  words  were  listened  to  by  the  whole 
country  as  words  of  wisdom,  and  heeded  as  such. 
Whose  words  will  weigh  as  much  now  ?" 

T.  S.  D.  TO   HIS   SON   CHARLES. 

"Burleigh,  10th  December,  1852. 

.  .  .  "We  had  a  fair  hunt  under  all  the  circum- 
stances, having  killed  sixty-seven  deer.  I  think  they 
obviously  diminish  each  year.  .  .  .  Sophy  sends  you  a 
'book-marker,'  having  worked  it  for  you  herself."  .  .  . 

CHARLES   TO    HIS    MOTHER. 

"Cambridge,  December  12,  1852. 

"Your  letter  of  the  26th  ult.  reached  me  the  day 
before  yesterday,  containing  the  painful  intelligence 
that  my  father  was  sick.  I  am  now  most  anxious  to 
hear  from  you  again,  and  have  felt  sad  ever  since  the 
arrival  of  your  letter.  I  hope  that  his  sickness  is 
nothing  more  than  the  result  of  exposure,  and  that  his 
wonted  good  health  will,  long  before  this  reaches  you, 

13* 


150      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

have  been  entirely  restored.  I  am  glad,  though,  that 
you  mentioned  it,  as  I  never  desire  anything  of  that 
kind  concealed  from  me,  for  if  it  was  I  should  never 
know  when  to  repose  confidence  in  the  letters  which  I 
receive.  I  feel  homesick  to-night.  I  would  give  worlds 
to  be  with  you  now.  But  I  must  drag  myself  along 
through  time  until  next  summer,  and  have  no  com- 
panion to  cheer  me  up  in  the  arduous  task  save  hope. 
I  feel  as  if  I  could  not  possibly  love  you  enough,  but 
I  feel  that  you  know  how  much  I  do  love  you.  But 
my  heart  bleeds  when  I  think  that  my  conduct  towards 
you  has  not  always  been  in  accordance  with  the  depth 
of  my  affection.  My  consolation  consists,  however,  in 
knowing  that  you  know  me  well  enough  to  perceive 
when  my  conduct  is  at  variance  with  my  affection,  and 
that  you  would  not  judge  of  the  latter,  which  is  infinite 
and  eternal,  by  an  act  sudden  and  momentary. 

"  And  my  father,  who,  I  trust,  is  now  pursuing  his 
wonted  occupation,  can  I  ever  do  enough  to  justify  the 
confidence  which  I  know  he  has  always  reposed  in  me? 
Can  I  ever  approach  anything  like  the  realization  of 
the  expectations  which  he  has  associated  with  me? 
I  am  afraid  not.  When  I  think  of  this  my  heart  almost 
bursts ;  and  though  from  experience  and  study  I  have 
for  the  most  part  acquired  the  habit  of  controlling  my 
feelings  and  emotions,  yet  tears  will  often  fill  my  eyes 
when  I  am  alone  when  I  think  of  those  to  whom  I 
owe  so  much, — whom  I  love  so  much,  yea,  love  to  dis- 
traction. As  it  is  said  that  the  chief  happiness  of 
parents  when  they  become  old  consists  in  the  contem- 
plation of  the  welfare  and  affection  of  their  children; 
and  as  you  and  he  are  now  getting  old,  the  main  object 
of  my  future  life  shall  be  whatever  will  most  conduce 
to  bring  about  that  happiness ;  and  fortune,  ambition, 
glory,  shall  all  be  neglected  to  attain  it.  I  know  that 
it  is  painful  to  you  for  me  to  be  away  from  you, — to  me 
it  is  utter  wretchedness.  I  feel  as  if  I  would  never  be 
willing  to  endure  another  separation.  There  is  more 
happiness  to  be  found  ai'ound  the  domestic  fireside,  in 
the  conversation  of  those  whom  we  love,  than  in  gilded 
houses,  exalted  stations,  the  attentions  and  applauses 


HOME  LIFE.  151 

of  the  multitude.  You  must  forgive  me  for  sometimes 
feeling  lonely  and  desolate,  considering  I  am  so  far  from 
you,  and  for  burdening  you  with,  a  portion  of  my 
melancholy." 

The  oversensitive  conscience  of  Charles  accused  him 
of  faults  which  he  did  not  possess.  His  reverence  and 
filial  affection  for  his  parents  were  never  known  to  fail. 
In  the  family  life  his  example  was  without  blemish. 

THOMAS   DABNEY   TO    HIS    SON    CHARLES. 

"  Burleigh,  19th  December,  1852. 

"Tour  mother  and  the  girls  are  employed  in  making 
minee-pies  and  other  good  things,  held  to  be  appropri- 
ate for  the  approaching  Christmas  festival.  And  this 
reminds  me  that  my  whole  family  participated  with  me 
in  this  celebration  last  year.  When  will  they  do  it 
again?  Never,  is  the  probable  answer.  Not  that  any 
of  us  are  likely  to  die  within  the  compass  of  a  year, 
but  the  position  or  employments  of  some  will,  most 
probably,  forbid  it.  Should  we  all  live  to  see  the  sun 
make  his  next  annual  circuit,  I  suppose  that  all  will  be 
here  except  Virginius.  How  of  the  next?  Yirginius 
should  not  be  here  then.  And  the  next?  But  we  will 
pursue  this  theme  no  further. 

"  We  expect  a  larger  company  than  we  had  last 
Christmas,  although  something  like  half  of  our  last 
year's  company  will  be  absent.  Virginius  and  your- 
self, for  example. will  be  here  certainly. 

He  will  bring  Colonel  Yick  with  him,  whom  I  specially 
invited.  I  also  expect  Mr.  Wm.  Moncure,  having  in- 
vited him  a  month  ago,  and  Dr.  Latimer,  E.  Lott,  J. 
Shelton,  O.  Y.  and  Wm.  Shearer,  Jennings,  Lyles,  Hal 
Smith,  Hal's  father,  and  Yernon.  Edward  will  be  here 
with  one  of  his  school-fellows,  and  it  is  probable  that 
some  will  be  here  unexpectedly,  as  Summers  has  a 
friend  with  him,  for  example." 

The  whole  family  never  met  again.  In  nine  months 
from  the  date  of  this  letter  Charles  Dabney  died. 


152     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

CHARLES   TO   HIS   FATHER. 

"  Cambridge,  December  21,  1852. 

"  Tell  Sophy  that  I  thank  her  very  much  for  the 
'  book-marker'  which  she  made  for  me,  and  that  it 
afforded  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  see  that  she 
thought  of  me.  I  am  glad  also  to  see  the  progress  she 
has  made  in  needle-work,  and  to  hear  such  flattering 
accounts  of  the  studious  habits  of  all  of  them.  I  shall 
indeed  '  remember'  her."* 

T.  S.  D.  TO   HIS    SON   CHARLES. 

"Bukleigh,  18th  January,  1853. 

..."  I  have  ordered  one  thousand  dollars  to  be  for- 
warded to  you  immediately  by  the  Bank  of  Louisiana, 
which  will  give  you  a  little  surplus  over  your  estimates ; 
a  thing  well  enough  to  provide,  as  it  will  enable  you 
to  bring  some  little  presents  to  your  sisters,  which  I 
always  approve  of,  as  the  affections  are  cultivated  in 
this  manner  as  successfully  perhaps  as  in  any  other 
single  mode. 

"  You  need  not  make  yourself  so  uneasy  about  your 
expenses.  I  am  perfectly  satisfied  with  them  myself, 
and  it  is  lucky  that  I  am,  for  I  do  not  anticipate  any  re- 
duction in  them  for  some  time  to  come.  I  hope  you  do 
not  expect  to  support  yourself  from  the  start.  I  say  I 
hope  you  do  not,  for  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  you  dis- 
appointed, and  perhaps  mortified.  Immediate  success 
does  not  depend  on  merit,  but  most  frequently  on  the 
lack  of  it.  But  all  this  you  know.  Be  satisfied,  then, 
to  bide  your  time,  with  but  little  fear  of  my  becoming 
fatigued.  .  .  . 

"  P.S. — There  is  not  the  least  objection  to  your  accept- 
ing Olivia's  present,  and  lam  gratified  at  her  pi"opo- 
sitionl  It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  accept  any 
such  tiling  of  her,  but  it  is  very  different  with  my 
children".  I  would  not  consent  to  her  making  them 
costly  presents,  but  such  as  are  merely  complimentary, 
as  in  your  case,  gratify  me  very  much." 

*  The  motto  of  the  little  marker  was,  "  Remember  Me." 


HOME  LIFE.  153 

THOMAS   DABNEY   TO    CHARLES. 

"Burleigh,  30th  January,  1853. 

.  .  .  "  I  am  very  glad  that  you  called  my  attention  to 
Alexander  Hamilton.  Whether  he  was  a  greater  man 
than  either  of  the  Adamses  would  be  a  very  difficult 
point  (but  an  unnecessary  one)  to  determine.  It  may 
be  enough  that  he  ranks  with  Madison  as  a  contributor 
to  the  Federalist,  and  with  him  also,  and  with  Adams  and 
Jefferson,  as  a  statesman  and  patriot  of  the  Revolution. 
Do  you  not  remember  the  speech  of  John  Adams  upon 
the  adoption  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence?  If 
a  greater  amount  of  patriotism,  heroism,  and  eloquence 
is  to  be  found  in  the  same  number  of  English  words 
elsewhere  than  in  that  speech,  I  know  not  where  to 
look  for  them.  But  still,  it  would  be  difficult  to  ascribe 
to  me  too  high  an  admiration  of  and  veneration  for  the 
genius  and  character  of  General  Hamilton.  I  therefore 
write  you  to  purchase  for  the  Burleigh  library  all  of 
his  writings,  the  Federalist  complete  included.  I  also 
wish  you  to  purchase  Sparks's  'Life  of  Washington,'  as 
a  suitable  companion  for  the  other  books.  These  are 
American  works,  and  yet,  in  my  poor  judgment,  they 
may  safely  be  reckoned  the  classics  of  future  ages.  En- 
tertaining these  views  of  the  great  value  of  the  princi- 
ples inculcated  by  the  writings  of  Washington  and  the 
Adamses  and  Hamilton  and  Webster,  I  think  you  had 
better  procure  them  all  in  very  substantial  bindings  : 
calf  if  you  choose,  but  that  may  not  be  necessary. 

"  If  you  think  it  judicious,  you  may  purchase  books 
for  yourself,  during  the  year,  to  the  amount  of  one 
thousand  dollars.  I  do  not  name  that  sum  as  your  limit 
by  any  means,  but  only  as  your  present  limit.  It  may 
be  that  it  would  be  injudicious  to  purchase  so  many  at 
once,  but  you  will  judge  of  that,  and  let  me  know, 
whenever  you  have  made  up  your  mind  what  sum  you 
prefer  to  have  for  this  object." 

CHARLES  TO  THOMAS  DABNEY. 

"  Cambridge,  February  15,  1853. 

"Last  evening  I  received  yours  of  30th  January. 
Parts  of  it  greatly  moved  me,  and  upon  those  parts  I 
will  touch  first  and  somewhat  at  leno-th. 


154     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

"  When  I  came  to  that  portion  in  which  3-011  authorize 
me  to  purchase  books  to  the  amount  of  one  thousand 
dollars  my  head  felt  giddy,  my  heart  swelled.  That 
is  an  outlay,  that  is  a  favor  far  beyond  anything  I  had 
hoped.  But  you  correctly  suggest  that  it  might  be  in- 
judicious in  me  to  buy  as  many  books  at  one  time  and 
so  early  in  life.  The  law  books  that  1  will  want  will 
be  such  as  will  suit  the  kind  and  the  extent  of  practice 
which  I  have  a  right  to  expect,  for  I  have  not  the 
right  to  think  that  I  am  going  to  get  any  very  difficult 
cases,  or  any  great  number  of  them,  for  some  time. 
It  would  be  a  useless  expenditure  therefore  to  buy  a 
large  number  of  law  books  unless  I  expected  to  enter 
immediately  into  a  large  practice,  for  law  books  are 
of  that  nature  that  as  soon  as  a  new  book,  or  a  new 
edition  of  an  old  one,  comes  out,  those  which  preceded 
it  are  rendered  almost  entirely  worthless.  This  last 
remark  is  of  course  general  in  its  nature,  and  does  not 
apply  to  'reports,'  for  they  are  always  good  and  neces- 
sary, but  to  treatises  on  legal  subjects,  text-books,  etc. 
And,  besides  all  this,  I  wish  to  buy  my  law  books — that 
is,  those  that  will  not  be  immediately  necessary  to  me 
as  a  capital  to  start  on — with  my  own  earnings.  I  am 
unwilling  to  put  you  to  a  greater  expense  than  my 
prospects  will  justify,  and  of  them  I  can  only  judge 
after  I  have  entered  upon  the  practice.  Nor  do  I  wish 
to  bear  more  heavily  on  you  than  there  is  any  need 
that  I  should.  .  .  .  But  as  I  hope  and  expect  to  be 
something  else  than  a  mere  lawyer,  I  will  want  some 
books  of  a  historical,  litei*ary,  and  philosophical  char- 
acter, a  moderate  number  of  which,  though  enough  to 
supply  my  wants  for  many  years,  will  cost  about  two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  But  even  this  expense  I 
would  be  unwilling  to  encounter  all  at  once  but  for  the 
likelihood  there  is  that,  after  entering  into  business,  I 
may  be  so  engaged  as  not  to  have  an  opportunity  for 
many  years  to  come,  perhaps,  of  getting  books  on  as 
good  terms  and  of  making  selections  where  there  are 
so  many  to  select  from. 

"  Another  reason  is  that  I  will  have  some  time  to  read 
before  I  get  involved  in  business  (if  I  ever  should  be- 


HOME  LIFE.  155 

come  so  fortunate)  than  I  will  ever  have  afterwards. 
"Without  the  books  I  might  be  comparatively  idle.  My 
mind  would  rust,  dimness  would  take  the  place  of  what 
is  now  freshness,  and  the  wheels  of  intellect  would  roll 
backward.  Although  there  is  more  to  be  learned  in 
my  profession  than  I  ever  will  know  did  I  study  it  ex- 
clusively every  hour  during  the  dajT,  yet  I  do  not  wish 
it  to  be  the  only  ladder  upon  which  I  am  to  climb 
hereafter.  No  iawyer  pretends  to  know  everything 
about  law.  If  a  lawyer  wishes  to  be  anything  else 
than  a  bore  to  the  jury  he  addresses,  he  must  gather 
flowers  and  perfume  in  a  poetic  land.  If  he  wishes  to 
give  anything  more  than  a  mere  legal  argument,  he 
must  gather  wisdom  and  acuteness  from  metaphysics. 
If  he  wishes  to  be  learned,  he  must  rob  history  of  its 
contents.  It  is  on  this  account  that  I  wish  to  possess 
somewhat  of  a  miscellaneous  library.  Without  it,  as 
you  know,  I  would  be  contracted  in  mind,  uninteresting 
as  a  companion,  and  dull  and  disagreeable  as  a  lawyer, 
and  the  groundwork  which  I  have  laid  in  my  academic 
career,  and  the  great  expense  to  which  I  have  been  put 
to  lay  it,  would  all  result  in  nothing  except  as  far  as  it 
operated  as  a  mental  training.  If  you  have  any  sug- 
gestion to  make  on  this  subject,  or  if  you  differ  in  your 
views  from  anything  that  I  have  here  written,  of  course 
you  will  not  fail  to  make  known  your  opinions  at  length. 
It  is  needless  for  me  to  say  that  the  older  I  get,  and 
the  more  I  learn,  the  more  I  am  satisfied  of  the  cor- 
rectness of  your  views  with  regard  to  education  and 
the  method  of  attaining  it.  .  .  . 

"  t  have,  my  dear  father,  written  coolly  on  the  gen- 
erous and  affectionate  offer  you  have  made  me,  but  my 
heart  has  been  filled  to  overflowing.  To  say  that  I  thank 
you,  that  I  am  grateful,  would  be  acting  so  coldly  as  to 
chill  you.  I  am  at  a  loss  what  to  say,  and  it  is  there- 
fore that  my  letter  has  somewhat  the  appearance  of 
abruptness  and  disconnection.  To  say  little,  but  to  re- 
solve high,  will,  then,  be  the  best  way  by  which  I  can 
show  my  high  appreciation  of  it.  You  have  thus  indi- 
rectly shown  me  what  you  expect  of  me.  My  hopes 
and  my  efforts  will  all  be  enlisted  on  the  side  of  your 


156     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

expectations.  But  do  not  rear  them  too  high.  "Wait 
and  see  me  fairly  engaged  in  the  contest  of  life  before 
you  assign  them  any  definite  proportions.  I  have 
hopes,  yea,  high  hopes,  but  I  never  like  to  breathe 
them  even  to  any  one. 

"Where  was  one  thing  in  your  letter  which  hurt  me ; 
not  "because  I  thought  that  you  intended  it  to  do  so, 
but  because  it  showed  me  that,  under  excitement,  I 
might  have  written  foolishly  and  rashly  on  a  former 
occasion.  In  speaking  of  the  books  which  you  wish 
me  to  procure  for  the  Burleigh  library  you  say,  '  These 
are  American  works,  and  yet,  in  my  poor  judgment, 
they  may  safely  be  reckoned  the  classics,'  etc.  It  was 
the  word  poor.  This  word  hurt  me,  not  so  much  be- 
cause it  might  be  construed  into  a  very  mild  and  kind 
reproof,  but  because  it  has  suggested  to  me  that  I  did 
not  address  myself  with  that  courtesy  and  respect 
which  I  owe  you,  not  only  from  the  relation,  but  also 
from  the  love  and  affection  you  bear  to  me.  I  know 
that  I  deserved  it  all,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  think  no 
more  of  it,  and  say  no  more  about  it.  The  lesson  and 
the  kindness  with  which  it  was  given  I  will  remember. 
I  don't  know  that  I  ever  told  you  that  I  confided  in 
your  judgment ;  that  would  have  been  as  unnecessary 
as  telling  people  that  I  loved  you ;  but,  I  know  this, 
that  no  excitement  could  ever jnake  me  either  act  or 
write  in  a  manner  intentionally  disrespectful  towards 
you.  Could  I  bo  capable  of  such  a  thing,  so  far  from 
meriting  your  love,  I  would  taint  the  very  atmosphere 
in  which  I  breathe." 

CHARLES   TO    HIS    FATHER. 

"Cambridge,  Mass.,  13th  February,  1853. 

..."  Yes,  Mr.  Clay  was  the  G-olconda  of  the  Whig 
party,  in  whom  the  rough  diamonds  were  quarried,  and 
Daniel  Webster  was  the  skilful  artificer  who  polished 
them ;  but,  like  the  artificer  to  whom  King  Hiero  of 
Syracuse  gave  his  gold  that  he  might  make  him  a 
crown,  he  robbed  him  of  nearly  all  of  it,  and  gave  him 
in  return  an  adulterated  and  worthless  bauble.  So  has 
Mr.  Clay  fared  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Webster,  not  in  your 


HOME  LIFE.  157 

day,  for  you  know  all  about  the  two  men,  but  in  those 
days  in  which  posterity  shall  live." 

CHARLES   TO    HIS    MOTHER. 

"  Cambridge,  Mass.,  February  27,  1S53. 
.  .  .  "But  it  has  been  a  still  longer  time  since  I  have 
received  a  letter  from  you.  But  I  know  how  many  cares 
and  duties  you  have,  how  many  interruptions  you  are 
liable  to,  and  I  therefore  feel  thankful  and  happy  if 
I  receive  a  letter  from  you  once  in  six  weeks.  ...  I 
send  a  little  handkerchief  to  Sophy." 

CHARLES    TO    HIS   FATHER. 

"  Cambridge,  Mass.,  February,  1853. 

"  In  my  last  I  promised  that  my  next  should  have  a 
continuation  of  the  subject  then  under  discussion ;  and 
accoi'dingly  I  will  now  proceed  to  give  my  views  upon 
the  American  mind.  I  will  begin  by  saying  that  I 
never  had  a  contempt  for  the  American  mind,  and,  so 
far  as  I  can  remember,  I  never  intentionally  expressed 
any;  but,  on  the  contrary,  I  have  the  highest  admira- 
tion for  it,  and  believe  that  it  will  attain  an  eminence 
equal,  if  not  above,  that  of  any  other  nation.  But  I 
do  say,  and  think  too,  that  since  our  separation  from 
England  we  have  not  attained  any  height  worthy  the 
excessive  praises  lavished  by  our  people  upon  their 
writers.  It  is  a  fact,  which  I  think  cannot  be  contra- 
dicted, that  our  greatest  men  and  best  educated  men 
(public  men,  I  mean,  for  of  private  men  we  know 
nothing)  were  born  and  raised  subjects  of  the  British 
throne.  And  all,  or  nearly  all,  had  given  evidence  of 
tbeir  intellect  before  the  Revolution  had  systematically 
broken  out.  Washington,  Franklin,  Jefferson,  Adams, 
Henry,  Hamilton,  etc.,  were  as  much  subjects  of  the 
king  of  Great  Britain,  up  to  1776,  as  I  am  a  citizen 
of  the  United  States.  In  addition  to  these  being  the 
greatest  men  this  country  ever  had,  three  of  them, 
Franklin,  Jefferson,  and  Adams,  were  the  most  learned. 
Franklin  must  have  been  near  his  seventieth  year  when 
he  signed  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  Mr.  Jeffer- 
son, at  thirty-three  years  of  age,  wrote  the  Declaration, 

U 


158      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

which  is  of  itself  sufficient  to  satisfy  any  man  of  his 
learning  and  ability.  Mr.  Adams,  about  that  time, 
made  some  speeches,  which,  in  the  opinion  of  many, 
equal  anything  in  the  English  language.  Now,  I 
think  the  greatness  of  these  men,  up  to  the  period  of 
the  Revolution,  was  no  more  owing  to  American  (what 
is  now  meant  by  American)  institutions  than  to  the 
Chinese ;  but  they  were  brought  forth  and  matured 
under  British  institutions.  It  is  true  they  differed 
somewhat  from  the  institutions  in  the  island  of  Great 
Britain  itself;  but,  nevertheless,  they  were  regulated 
by  British  laws,  and  governed  by  men  appointed  by  the 
British  throne. 

"  In  point  of  respect  and  admiration  for  our  Revolu- 
tionary patriots  and  sages  I  yield  to  no  one. 

"  But  the  class  of  literary  men  and  philosophers  to 
whom  I  wish  m}^  remarks  to  apply  are  those  who  are 
essentially  'American,'  those  who  have  been  born  and 
reared  since  the  birth  of  America.  I  think  that  this 
class  is  not  only  vastly  inferior  to  our  sages  of  the 
Revolution,  but  also  very  much  inferior  to  the  men  of 
England  and  France  produced  during  the  same  period. 
It  may  be  said  that  great  crises  are  necessary  to  bring 
forth  great  men.  Great  crises  bring  forth  great  heroes 
and  great  patriots;  but,  in  my  judgment,  great  scholars 
and  great  philosophers  can  be  produced  quite  as  well 
in  the  quiet  monotony  and  stillness  of  the  cell  as  amidst 
the  turmoil  of  war  and  the  upturning  of  the  moral  and 
political  world.  "War  gives  occasion  for  the  display  of 
greatness  of  soul  and  readiness  in  meeting  emergen- 
cies ;  but  Peace  is  the  mother  of  the  Arts, — of  those 
things  which  adorn  society  and  make  it  more  comfort- 
able for  its  dwellers. 

"  The  question  will  here  arise,  Have  we  done  noth- 
ing? Yes,  we  have  done  a  great  deal, — vastly  more 
than  any  other  nation  of  the  earth  could  have  done.  In 
1776  civilization  was  bounded  by  the  Alleghanies.  All 
the  territory  beyond  them  was  inhabited  by  the  most 
worthless  and  determined  of  enemies.  Since  that  time 
all  of  these  enemies  have  been  overthrown, — all  of 
that  territory  put  into  cultivation.    We  have  laid  many 


HOME  LIFE.  159 

thousands  of  miles  of  railroad,  cut  many  long  canals, 
built  innumerable  cities.  Our  steam  marine  exceeds 
that  (I  believe)  of  the  whole  world.  And,  what  is 
more,  we  have  put  into  practice  the  theories  of  liberty 
and  government  which  heretofore  only  found  existence 
in  the  brains  of  philosophers.  Well  may  it  be  said  of 
us,  that,  like  the  infant  Hercules,  we  have  strangled 
dragons  in  our  cradle.  But  our  destiny,  I  thank 
heaven,  is  higher:  we  have  yet  to  slay  the  Lernean 
hj-dra  and  the  Nemean  lion  and  to  lift  rivers  from 
their  beds,  which  are  the  labors  of  manhood  in  full 
vigor.  Looking,  then,  at  what  we  have  done,  it  is  plain 
that  our  powers  and  energies  have  been  directed  to 
securing  the  comforts  of  life, — to  the  conquest  of  the 
asperities  of  nature, — that  we  have  had  no  time  to 
devote  to  the  cultivation  of  the  arts  and  refinements  of 
life.  We  have  manifested  no  backwardness  in  making 
application  of  those  principles  of  mechanics  which  aid 
at  all  in  taking  obstacles  from  our  path.  We  have 
put  science  to  use  wherever  it  could  possibly  have  been 
done.  In  fact,  in  this  we  are  superior  to  the  rest  of  the 
world. 

"  Besides,  we  were  born  to  the  inheritance  of  a  litera- 
ture. The  English  literature,  philosophy,  and  science, 
up  to  the  period  of  the  Revolution,  belongs  as  much  to 
us  as  to  the  English  themselves.  We  never,  therefore, 
felt  the  want  of  such  things,  and  what  people  do  not 
want  they  are  not  likely  to  strive  hard  to  attain.  But 
now  we  are  a  nation  ourselves ;  and  though  we  are 
capable  of  using  whatever  the  English  mind  produces, 
yet  it  is  not  ours.  Since  our  birth  as  a  nation  we  have 
had  so  many  obstacles  in  the  physical  world  to  contend 
with,  that  no  time  has  been  left  us  for  anything  else. 
Now  that  they  have  been  removed,  wo  may  look  for 
the  dawn  of  a  brighter  day.  The  great  encouragement 
given  by  our  people  to  newspapers  and  periodicals  of 
every  kind  is  a  happy  omen.  Our  writers  will  not 
need  the  condescending  patronage  of  crowned  heads 
and  conceited  courtiers ;  but  the  honest  approval  and 
liberal  rewards  conferred  by  freemen's  hearts  and  free- 
men's hands  will  amply  supply  their  every  want.     I 


160     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

am  glad  that  the  government  at  Washington  has  held 
out  so  many  encouragements  to  Lieutenant  Maury." 

THOMAS   DABNET  TO   HIS   SON   CHARLES. 

"  Burleigh,  May  6,  1853. 

..."  I  entirely  concur  in  your  proposition,  that  to 
slight  a  letter  is  to  do  an  unpardonable  thing." 

CHARLES   TO    HIS   FATHER. 

"  Cambridge,  Mass.,  July  3,  1853. 

"I  will  embark  on  the  first  ship  that  sails  for  New 
Orleans  after  the  8th.  The  diplomas  are  not  given  out 
till  the  20th.  At  that  time  the  academic  honors  are 
conferred.  I  will,  of  course,  leave  mine  behind  me,  to 
be  brought  on  bj?-  a  friend.  .  .  . 

"  I  am  quite  bothered  as  to  what  sort  of  presents  to 
buy  for  my  little  sisters,  but  I  hope  before  I  leave  to 
think  of  somethine:." 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

HOLIDAY   TIMES   ON   THE    PLANTATION. 

A  life  of  Thomas  Dabney  could  not  be  written  with- 
out some  reference  to  the  Christmas  at  Burleigh.  It 
was  looked  forward  to  not  only  by  the  family  and  by 
friends  in  the  neighborhood  and  at  a  distance,  but  by 
the  house  and  plantation  servants.  The  house  was 
crowded  with  guests,  young  people  and  older  ones  too. 
During  the  holiday  season  Thomas  and  his  guests  were 
ready  to  accept  invitations  to  parties  in  other  houses, 
but  no  one  in  the  neighborhood  invited  company  for 
Christmas-Day,  as,  for  years,  everybody  was  expected 
at  Burleigh  on  that  day.  On  one  of  the  nights  during 
the  holidays  it  was  his  custom  to  invite  his  former  over- 
seer and  other  plain  neighbors  to  an  eggnog-party.  In 
the  concoction  of  this  beverage  he  took  a  hand  himself, 
and  the  freedom  and  ease  of  the  company,  as  they  saw 


HOLIDAY  TIMES   ON   THE  PLANTATION.      161 

the  master  of  the  house  heating  his  half  of  the  eggs  in 
the  great  china  bowl,  made  it  a  pleasant  scene  for  those 
who  cared  nothing  for  the  eggnog. 

During  the  holidays  there  were  refreshments,  in  the 
old  Virginia  style,  of  more  sorts  than  one.  The  oysters 
were  roasted  on  the  coals  on  the  dining-room  hearth, 
under  the  eyes  of  the  guests. 

Great  bunches  of  holly  and  magnolia,  of  pine  and 
mistletoe,  were  suspended  from  the  ceiling  of  hall  and 
dining-room  and  drawing-room. 

Sometimes,  not  often,  there  was  a  Christmas-tree, — 
on  one  occasion  one  for  the  colored  Sunday-school. 
One  Christmas  everybody  hung  up  a  sock  or  stocking ; 
a  long  line,  on  the  hall  staircase.  There  were  twenty- 
two  of  them,  white  silk  stockings,  black  silk  stockings, 
thread  and  cotton  and  woollen  socks  and  stockings. 
And  at  the  end  of  the  line  was,  side  by  side  with  the 
old-fashioned  home-spun  and  home-knit  sock  of  the 
head  of  the  house,  the  dainty  pink  sock  of  the  three- 
weeks-old  baby. 

Who  of  that  company  does  not  remember  the  morn- 
ing scramble  over  the  stockings  and  the  notes  in  prose 
and  poetry  that  tumbled  out! 

The  children's  nurses  modestly  hung  their  stockings 
up  by  the  nursery  fireplace. 

Music  and  dancing  and  cards  and  games  of  all  sorts 
filled  up  a  large  share  of  the  days  and  half  the  nights. 
The  plantation  was  as  gay  as  the  house.  The  negroes 
in  their  holiday  clothes  were  enjoying  themselves  in 
their  own  houses  and  in  the  "  great  house"  too.  A 
visit  of  a  day  to  one  of  the  neighboring  towns  was 
considered  by  them  necessary  to  the  complete  enjoy- 
ment of  the  holidays. 

They  had  their  music  and  dancing  too.  The  sound 
of  the  fiddles  and  banjos,  and  the  steady  rhythm  of 
their  dancing  feet,  floated  on  the  air  by  day  and  night 
to  the  Burleigh  house.  But  a  time  came  when  this 
was  to  cease.  The  whole  plantation  joined  the  Baptist 
church.  Henceforth  not  a  musical  note  nor  the  joyful 
motion  of  a  negro's  foot  was  ever  again  heard  on  the 
plantation.  "  I  done  buss'  my  fiddle  an'  my  banjo,  an' 
I  14* 


162     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

done  fling  'em  'way,"  the  most  music-loving  fellow  on 
the  place  said  to  the  preacher,  when  asked  for  his  re- 
ligious experience.  It  was  surely  the  greatest  sacrifice 
of  feeling  that  such  a  race  could  make.  Although  it 
was  a  sin  to  have  music  and  dancing  of  their  own,  it 
was  none  to  enjoy  that  at  the  "great  house."  They 
filled  the  porches  and  doors,  and  in  serried  ranks  stood 
men,  women,  and  children,  gazing  as  long  as  the  music 
and  dancing  went  on.  Frequently  they  stood  there 
till  the  night  was  more  than  half  gone.  In  the  crowd 
of  faces  could  be  recognized  the  venerable  ones  of  the 
aged  preachers,  surrounded  by  their  flocks. 

Christmas  was  incomplete  until  the  master  of  the 
house  had  sung  his  songs.  He  was  full  of  action  and 
gesture.  His  family  used  to  say  that  although  he  was 
in  character  and  general  bearing  an  Englishman,  his 
French  blood  asserted  itself  in  his  manner.  In  his 
motions  he  was  quick,  and  at  times,  when  he  chose  to 
make  them  so,  very  amusing,  yet  too  full  of  grace  to 
be  undignified.  He  was  fond  of  dancing,  and  put  fresh 
interest  in  it,  as  he  did  in  everything  that  he  joined  in. 

On  Christmas  mornings  the  servants  delighted  in 
catching  the  family  with  "  Christmas  giff!"  "  Christmas 
giff!"  betimes  in  the  morning.  They  would  spring  out 
of  unexpected  corners  and  from  behind  doors  on  the 
young  masters  and  mistresses.  At  such  times  there 
was  an  affectionate  throwing  off  of  the  reserve  and  de- 
corum of  every-day  life. 

"Hi!  ain't  dis  Chris'mus?"  one  of  the  quietest  and 
most  low-voiced  of  the  maid-servants  asked,  in  a  voice 
as  loud  as  a  sea-captain's.  One  of  the  ladies  of  the 
house  had  heard  an  unfamiliar  and  astonishingly  loud 
laugh  under  her  window,  and  had  ventured  to  put  an 
inquiring  head  out. 

In  times  of  sorrow,  when  no  Christmas  or  other  fes- 
tivities gladdened  the  Mississippi  home,  the  negroes 
felt  it  sensibly.  "It  'pears  so  lonesome;  it  mak'  me 
feel  bad  not  to  see  no  comp'ny  comin',"  our  faithful 
Aunt  Abby  said  on  one  of  these  occasions.  Her  post 
as  the  head  maid  rendered  her  duties  onerous  when 
the  house  was  full  of  guests.     We  had  thought  that 


HOLIDAY  TIMES  ON  THE  PLANTATION.      163 

she  would  be  glad  to  have  a  quiet  Christmas,  "which 
she  could  spend  by  her  own  fireside,  instead  of  attend- 
ing to  the  wants  of  a  houseful  of  young  people. 

In  the  presence  of  the  guests,  unless  they  were  old 
friends,  the  dignity  of  the  family  required  that  no  light 
behavior  should  be  indulged  in,  even  though  it  were 
Christmas.  In  no  hands  was  the  dignity  of  the  family 
so  safe  as  with  negro  slaves.  A  negro  was  as  proud 
of  the  "  blood"  of  his  master  and  mistress  as  if  it  had 
been  his  own.  Indeed,  they  greatly  magnified  the 
importance  of  their  owners,  and  were  readily  affronted 
if  aspersion  of  any  sort  wei'e  cast  on  their  master's 
family.  It  was  very  humiliating  to  them,  for  they  are 
all  aristocrats  by  nature,  to  belong  to  what  they  call 
"poor  white  trash." 

Our  steady  Lewis  was  often  sent  to  take  us  to  even- 
ing entertainments,  on  account  of  his  being  so  quiet 
and  nice  in  his  ways.  On  one  of  these  occasions  he  be- 
came so  incensed  that  he  refused  to  set  his  foot  on  that 
plantation  again.  Mammy  Maria  informed  us  of  the 
cause  of  Lewis's  anger.  One  of  the  maids  in  the  house 
in  which  we  were  spending  the  evening  had  insulted 
him  by  saying  that  her  mistress  wore  more  trimming 
on  her  clothes  than  his  young  ladies  did  ! 
\j  Hog-killing  was  one  of  the  plantation  frolics.  It 
began  at  daybreak.  Every  man,  woman,  and  child 
seemed  to  take  a  part.  Even  the  one  or  two  or  three 
or  four  fat  dogs  that  came  along  with  each  family 
seemed  to  know  that  the  early  bustle  was  the  presage 
of  boundless  enjoyment,  such  as  could  only  be  brought 
about  by  unlimited  fresh  pork. 

The  servants  made  fires  in  every  direction  all  over 
the  frozen  ground,  and  round  each  fire  was  a  merry 
group.  They  made  more  jokes  and  laughed  more 
gayly  than  on  other  days ;  for  not  only  did  they  fry 
great  pans  of  livei*,  and  bake  hoe-cake  after  ash-cake, 
and  ash-cake  after  hoe-cake,  and  eat  them  the  livelong 
day,  but  when  the  day  was  over  there  was  the  great 
bag  for  each  man's  shoulder,  filled  with  tenderloin  and 
liver,  heads,  and  lights,  and  spare-ribs;  and  all  these 
good  things  were  not  counted  in  the  "  'lowance,"  either. 


164     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

The  only  night-work  done  on  the  place  was  the  semi- 
monthly corn-shelling,  in  preparation  for  the  Satur- 
day's grinding.  The  mellow  songs  of  the  corn-shellers 
floated  on  the  air  during  the  hour  required  for  this 
work.  When  they  found  an  ear  of  red  or  blue  corn, 
or  a  double  ear,  it  was  often  laid  aside  to  be  given  in 
the  morning  to  one  of  the  white  children. 

The  church  at  Pass  Christian  was  the  first  Episcopal 
church  that  we  had  seen.  The  organ  up  in  the  gallery 
and  the  singing  up  there  behind  us  seemed  mysterious 
and  heavenly.  The  tall  pines  and  the  giant  live-oak  on 
the  great  Indian  mound  in  front  and  the  cedars  that 
stood  round  it,  made  the  church  seem  a  place  where 
the  world  and  its  thoughts  could  not  enter.  One  day 
we  were  told  that  we  were  to  be  taken  to  the  beautiful 
little  church  to  be  christened ;  all,  from  Edward  down 
to  the  baby,  Thomas,  in  the  nurse's  arms, — the  eight 
Mississippi  children. 

We  were  baptized  by  the  rector,  the  Rev.  Thomas 
Staughton  Savage,  Mrs.  Savage  standingby  our  mother's 
side  as  godmother  for  the  whole  flock.  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Savage  had  both  been  missionaries  to  Africa,  and  only 
returned  to  America  when  his  health  had  been  shattered 
by  the  deadly  climate.  During  his  residence  there  he 
became  known  to  the  scientific  world  as  the  discoverer 
of  the  gorilla.* 

Thomas  was  a  man  of  strong  prejudices.  Later  in 
life,  when  his  character  was  softened  by  age,  sorrow, 
and  religion,  he  yielded  readily  to  influence.  There  had 
been  opportunities  for  the  baptism  of  the  children  be- 
fore, but  because  the  characters  of  the  clergymen  were 
not  altogether  to  his  taste,  he  had  refused  to  allow  his 
children  to  be  christened  by  them. 

Dr.  Savage  was  a  man  whose  unaffected  piety,  joined 
to  his  many  gifts,  won  his  esteem,  and  the  long  deferred 
christening  was  arranged.  An  envelope  containing  a 
handsome  sum  for  each  child's  name  was  put  into  the 
rector's  hand  when  it  was  over.     The  church,  he  was 


*  See  Huxley's  "  Evidence  as  to  Man's  Place  in  Nature,"  p.  33. 


HOLIDAY  TIMES  ON  THE  PLANTATION.     165 

told,  made  no  charge  for  admission  into  her  folds.  But 
he  made  his  offering;  it  could  be  used  in  some  way,  any- 
way that  the  minister  thought  best. 

There  was  no  Episcopal  church  in  Raymond.  He 
gave  aid  to  the  Methodists  there,  because  he  felt  that 
he  must  help  the  cause  of  religion  in  his  neighborhood. 

He  was  always  a  strong  believer  in  the  doctrines 
of  Christianity,  and  had  great  reverence  for  religion. 
But  he  was  not  a  religious  man.  It  was  long  years 
after  this  that  he  became  a  communicant  and  a  true 
Christian. 

Yet  through  all  these  years  he  did  the  deeds  of  a 
Christian.  He  was  the  most  liberal  of  contributors  to 
every  enterprise  that  was  gotten  up  to  build  up  Sunday- 
schools  or  churches,  or  to  support  the  clergy.  His 
house  was  the  resort  and  resting-place  not  only  of  the 
bishop  and  clergy  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  but  of  the 
ministers  of  all  denominations. 

A  Baptist  preacher,  who  spent  a  day  or  so  at  Bur- 
leigh every  time  that  his  monthly  Sunday  came  around 
to  preach  in  the  neighborhood,  was  so  fond  of  staying 
there  as  to  rouse  the  jealousy  of  his  own  congregation. 
He  was  a  worthy  old  man,  but  unsuccessful,  as  far  as 
earthly  eyes  could  see,  in  his  ministrations.  "When  he 
was  bidding  his  congregation  good-by  in  a  farewell 
sermon,  he  mentioned  byname  his  friend,  Colonel  Dab- 
ney.  "  I  have  preached  twenty  years  here,"  he  said, 
"  and  have  converted  no  one,  not  even  Colonel  Dabne}7." 

Thomas  once  had  an  Episcopal  clergyman  and  his 
family,  consisting  of  his  wife,  five  children,  and  two  ser- 
vants, to  spend  six  weeks  at  Burleigh.  At  another  time 
he  had  an  Episcopal  clergyman  and  his  family  of  six  in 
his  house  for  two  months.  Other  occasions  might  be 
mentioned  when  he  had  the  care  of  clergymen's  fami- 
lies during  the  absence  of  the  parents. 

Thomas  was  more  than  once  spoken  of  as  an  "  in- 
comparable host."  When  a  Louisiana  gentleman  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  establish  a  school  near  Raymond, 
he  received  the  family  into  his  house,  and  they  were 
entertained  there  for  two  months.  This  family  con- 
sisted of  the  father  and  mother,  their  eight  children 


166     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

and  an  adopted  child,  one  negro  and  four  Irish  servants, 
and  two  horses.  The  gray-haired  Creole  negro  had 
been  strict  in  his  observance  of  Friday  as  a  fast  day. 
But  the  mutton  was  tempting,  and,  as  one  of  the  Bur- 
leigh negroes  expressed  it,  "  Uncle  Felix  done  tu'n, 
'cause  the  mutton  is  too  good." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  VALLEY  OP  THE  SHADOW. 

The  summer  of  1853  was  an  anxious  one  in  the 
South,  for  the  yellow  fever  was  raging  in  New  Orleans 
and  in  other  Southern  cities.  It  had  never  been  known 
to  reach  Pass  Christian,  and  the  Dabneys  felt  safe 
there.  But  the  New  Orleans  daily  papers,  giving  the 
mortality  at  two  hundred,  and  finally  even  three  hun- 
dred a  day,  cast  a  gloom  over  all  faces.  A  great  many 
New  Orleans  people  fled  for  safety  to  the  Pass.  The 
daily  boats  were  crowded  with  refugees.  Quarantine 
laws  were  unknown  then. 

In  September  it  began  to  be  rumored  that  the  disease 
had  broken  out  at  the  Pass  Christian  hotel,  and  that 
the  victims  were  buried  every  night,  lest  people  might 
be  deterred  from  going  there. 

It  was  all  too  true.    But  scarcely  any  one  believed  it. 

Charles  Dabney  had  come  home  after  two  years  of 
study  at  the  Law  School  of  Harvard  University,  hav- 
ing graduated  there  with  honor.  His  mother  feared 
that  his  having  been  so  long  in  a  Northern  climate  made 
him  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the  fever.  She  urged  on 
him  this  danger,  and  begged  her  husband  to  take  the 
family  away  from  the  Pass.  But  he  did  not  believe  it 
possible  that  the  fever  could  spread  in  that  air.  Charles 
was  full  of  youthful  spirits,  and  so  happy  to  be  in  the 
home  circle  once  more,  that  he  could  not  be  made  to 
apprehend  any  danger.  When  the  last  week  in  Sep- 
tember came,  the  fever  was  more  deadly  than  ever  in 


THE   VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW.  167 

New  Orleans.  This  decided  Thomas  to  take  his  whole 
family  to  Burleigh  by  the  overland  route.  As  before 
mentioned,  he  and  the  mother  and  the  little  ones  and 
the  servants  had  always  gone  by  this  way.  His  wagons 
were  commodious,  and  he  invited  a  number  of  friends 
to  become  his  guests  in  this  journey,  and  to  remain  at 
Burleigh  until  it  should  be  safe  for  them  to  return  to 
their  homes  in  New  Orleans.  Quite  a  party  accepted 
the  invitation,  and  it  was  looked  forward  to  as  a  de- 
lightful and  novel  excursion.  But  different  things  in- 
terfered, and  all  but  one  young  lady  found  it- impossible 
to  accompany  the  family  on  the  seven  days'  journey 
through  the  country.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  first 
day's  travel  she  got  out  of  the  wagon  to  take  a  long 
walk.  Charles  was  on  his  riding-horse.  He  felt  ill  at 
the  time,  as  he  afterwards  told  his  mother,  but  he  could 
not  see  a  young  lady,  his  guest,  walk  unattended  by 
himself.  He  walked  two  and  a  half  miles  with  her, 
when  he  found  himself  near  fainting.  They  had  now 
reached  the  house  where  the  travellers  were  to  spend 
the  night.  The  next  morning  it  was  decided  that  he 
was  not  able  to  continue  the  journey  that  day;  but  no 
special  anxiety  was  felt.  Yellow  fever  was  not  thought 
of.  It  had  been  maintained  that  it  could  not  be  con- 
tracted on  the  Mississippi  coast  of  the  Gulf  of  JVIexico. 

One  of  the  children  held  back  to  say  good-by  to 
brother  Charley,  but  the  father  said  that  there  was  no 
use  in  that ;  he  had  only  a  bilious  attack,  and  would 
be  up  in  a  day  or  two.  So  Edward  was  sent  forward 
with  the  charge  of  the  children  and  wagons,  and  the 
rest  of  the  household,  amounting  to  twenty-one  per- 
sons. 

Thomas  and  Sophia,  with  the  baby  and  nurse  and  a 
man-servant,  remained  behind  with  Charles.  Thomas 
was  not  long  in  finding  that  the  sickness  that  he  bad 
hoped  was  so  slight  was  baffling  his  knowledge  of  dis- 
ease. The  symptoms  were  unlike  any  that  he  had 
seen.  The  situation  was  agonizing.  Neither  physician 
nor  medicine  was  to  be  had  in  that  country,  not  even  a 
cupping-glass  to  relieve  the  throbbing  temples. 

Still,  no  thought  of  the  yellow   fever   crossed   the 


168      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

mind  of  any  ono.  Even  if  it  had,  the  result,  under  cir- 
cumstances so  disastrous,  could  hardly  have  been  other 
than  it  was. 

They  were  not  much  longer  to  be  in  doubt  as  to  the 
enemy  that  was  battling  with  that  young  life. 

A  gush  of  black  vomit  let  them  know  that  their  boy 
was  dying  of  the  yellow  fever.  He  asked  his  mother 
to  hand  a  looking-glass  to  him.  She  held  it  before  his 
face,  and  he  was  shocked  to  see  the  blood  on  his  mouth. 
At  once  he  prepared  himself  for  the  death  that  could 
be  but  a  few  hours  off.  "  Lord,  have  mercy  on  me," 
his  mother  heard  him  whisper.  "  Tell  Yirginius,"  he 
said,  "to  set  a  good  example  to  his  younger  brothers 
and  sisters ;  much  depends  on  him,  now  that  he  is  to 
be  the  eldest.  No  one  knows  how  I  have  felt  the  re- 
sponsibility of  being  the  eldest,  and  how  I  have  been 
weighed  down  by  it.  I  have  tried  hard  to  set  a  good 
example.  I  felt  the  responsibility."  Turning  to  hia 
father,  he  said,  "Do  not  expect  so  much  of  your  other 
children  as  you  expected  of  me.  I  was  injured  by  that. 
I  tried  too  hard  not  to  disappoint  you.  I  broke  my- 
self down.  I  am  willing  to  die.  But  I  am  sorry  not 
to  be  the  eldest." 

He  spoke  lovingly  of  each  brother  and  sister  by 
name.  To  his  partial  eyes  they  were  all  dear  and 
good.  Only  that  summer  he  had  said  that  he  would 
like  to  marry  a  wife  like  any  one  of  his  six  sisters. 

Then  he  sent  a  message  of  love  and  good-by  to  the 
nine  absent  ones,  and  kissed  and  caressed  the  baby 
sister,  stroking  her  curls  and  admiring  the  "pretty 
head."  Then  he  called  his  father  to  him.  and  said, 
"  Kiss  me  for  Yirginius,  for  Edward,  for  Sarah,  for  Sue, 
for  Sophy,  for  Emmy,  for  Ben,  for  Ida,  for  Tommy;" 
and  at  each  name  the  kiss  was  given.  "Now  kiss  me 
for  yourself." 

The  last  kiss  was  given,  and  the  poor  distracted 
father  rushed  from  the  house  and  into  the  woods.  It 
was  more  than  an  hour  before  he  had  regained  self- 
control  and  could  trust  himself  to  go  back  to  that  bed- 
side. Death  seemed  slow  in  coming.  Unmindful  of 
himself,  even  in  death,  the  dying  son  sought  by  his  last 


THE   VALLEY   OF  THE  SHADOW.  169 

act  to  do  what  yet  lay  in  his  power  to  help  his  parents. 
He  stretched  himself  straight  and  close  to  the  side  of 
the  wretched  room,  and  kept  the  position  for  more 
than  an  hour.  "  It  is  too  hard,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I 
cannot  stand  it.  I  tried  to  lie  there  straight,  that  you 
might  not  have  any  trouble  in  composing  my  limbs. 
Bury  me  here  now,  in  these  woods.  But  do  not  leave 
me  here.  In  the  winter  take  me  up  and  put  me  by 
the  side  of  my  brothers." 

When  the  sun  rose  on  Wednesday,  the  28th  of  Sep- 
tember, it  was  all  over.  The  father  who,  but  a  few 
days  ago,  knew  that  he  had  a  son  ready  to  take  his 
place  as  the  worthy  head  of  the  family ;  no™'  felt  that 
his  staff  had  been  taken  from  him.  'The  mother's 
grief  was  quiet  but  crushing.  Her  health  received  a 
shock  from  which  it  never  recovered. 

His  favo^te  place  was  at  her  feet,  and  no  com- 
panionship was  so  sweet  to  him  as  hers.  They  laughed 
together  like  two  happy  children,  and  talked  the  long 
8u,!imer  mornings  through  in  the  Pass  Christian  house. 
"Oh,  smile  again,"  he  said  to  her  in  that  last  summer, 
his  own  joyous  face  beaming  as  he  spoke.  "You  look 
so  beautiful  when  you  smile." 

The  poor,  ignorant  people  in  whose  house  they  were 
staying  were  kind  and  sympathizing,  and  did  all  that 
they  could  to  help  my  dear  father  and  mother.  They 
had  a  number  of  children,  and  Thomas  Dabney  spoke 
with  regret  to  the  father  of  the  family  at  having 
brought  a  dangerous  and  contagious  disease  under  his 
roof.  The  man  answered  that  he  was  not  afraid,  and 
that  even  if  there  were  danger  he  could  not  have 
turned  a  sick  man  from  his  door. 

They  laid  their  son  there  to  rest  among  the  pines 
till  January.  Then  he  was  carried  to  Baymond,  where 
he  now  sleeps  beside  his  brothers. 

He  was  twenty-three  years  old.  Thirty-thi'ee  years 
have  passed  since  that  time.  But  his  birthday,  the  3d 
of  May,  and  the  day  of  his  death,  the  28th  of  Septem- 
ber, are  tenderly  observed  each  year  by  his  favorite 
sister,  Sarah. 

The  father  and  mother  bowed  their  heads  in  sub- 
h  15 


170     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

mission  to  the  blow.  Sympathy  came  from  all  sides,- 
"  oXl  /-  a  Professors  at  William  and  Mary  and  the 
"en!  there:  *«*  from  the  professors  and  stu- 
dents at  the  Umversit.es  of  Virginia  and  Harvard  He 
bad  warm  personal  friends  among  them  all.  Not  the 
least  gratifying  message  that  came  to  them  was  from  a 
poor  and  humble  family  living  near  the  University  of 
Virginia,  whom  he  had  helped.  They  did  not  know 
how  to  w    t    t     h     f     n    tQ  g  J  £ 

but  friends  of  the  Dabneys  heard  of  their  grief  7' 

The  winter  of  '53  and  '54  was  spent  quietly  amon, 
en.-  home  and  plantation  duties  at  Burleigh.  Thf 
lathers  e.«*W ^4ianosition Joined  to  a  strong  sense  of 
duty  to  others,  preventeu  j  QriTT  „.,+,„„  A  ,  to  V  .  „ 
In  the  presence1  of  her  famfi^  0Uo  ™d  f8,how+of  S™f- 
cheerful,  and  the  smile  was  still  on  h^l  motner,  too,  was 
a  part  of  herself.  But  it  was  not  the  bnfS!;"  8eemed 
we  had  known  before,  and  whenever  she  was  ^  aj{ 
after  being  alone  for  even  a  few  minutes  it  was  tound 
that  she  had  been  bathed  in  tears.  seen 

In  July  a  daughter  was  born,  the  last  of  a  long  line 
of  sixteen  children  to  whom  she  had  given  birth,  nine 
sons  and  seven  daughters.  It  was  seen  from  the  first 
that  the  child  was  too  frail  to  live.  Her  young  sisters 
named  her  Rosalie.  She  lived  but  two  months.  The 
weary  mother,  seeing  one  of  the  children  in  the  nursery 
crying  over  the  cradle,  said,  "  Do  not  shed  a  tear  for 
the  baby.  She  is  better  off.  I  am  thankful  that  she 
is  gone.     I  was  not  able  to  take  care  of  her." 

It  was  now  time  to  go  to  the  summer-house  on  the 
sea-shore.  But  Sophia  found  that  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  go  to  Pass  Christian  again ;  and  in  a  year 
or  two.  as  her  aversion  to  the  thought  of  ever  going 
there  seemed  to  increase,  Thomas  sold  the  place. 

He  had  not  thought  it  safe  to  keep  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren on  the  plantation  during  the  hot  months.  The 
eighteen  summers  spent  in  Mississippi  had  all  been 
passed  either  at  Sophia's  father's  in  Raymond,  or  in 
Virginia,  or  at  the  sea-shore.  But  this  summer  he  de- 
cided to  stay  at  Burleigh,  as  she  wished  it. 


SUMMER    TRAVEL.  171 

CHAPTEK  XIV. 

SUMMER   TRAVEL. 

They  found  the  Burleigh  house  well  suited  to  the 
hot  climate,  as  the  halls  and  rooms  were  high-pitched 
and  spacious.  They  spent  many  comfortable  summers 
there,  and  did  not  suffer  from  any  illness  caused  by 
climatic  influences. 

But  the  health  of  our  mother  was  becoming  more 
and  more  undermined.  Two  years  after  the  great 
bereavement  had  come  to  her  Thomas  decided  to  take 
her  to  Virginia,  among  their  relations  and  old  friends, 
and  to  the  White  Sulphur  and  other  springs,  hoping 
that  a  complete  change  would  benefit  her.  He  kept 
her  for  two  weeks  in  Baltimore  that  he  might  get  the 
advice  of  Dr.  Thomas  Buckler  on  her  case.  Dr.  Buck- 
ler could  find  no  disease.  There  was  none  except  that 
to  which  no  earthly  physician  can  minister, — the  rooted 
sorrow  that  could  not  be  plucked  from  the  memory. 
But  she  was  not  without  comfort.  She  found  consola- 
tion in  her  religion.  She  had  not  forgotten  her  heavenly 
Father  in  her  days  of  prosperity,  and  now  in  her  time 
of  adversity  she  leaned  more  and  more  heavily  on  that 
strong  arm. 

The  Dabneys  spent  six  months  among  the  familiar 
scenes  of  Gloucester  and  at  Montrose,  and  with  other 
relatives  and  friends,  and  in  the  Virginia  mountains. 

Montrose — that  charming,  old-fashioned  place  with 
its  smooth  lawn  and  quaint  box-bordered  flower-beds — 
was  the  home  of  my  father's  sister,  our  dear  "Aunt 
Martha."  We  had  been  taught  from  childhood  to  love 
and  admire  her,  not  without  a  little  awe,  too.  We  had 
not  seen  her,  and  she  was  only  known  to  us  as  the 
writer  of  very  beautiful  and  touching  letters,  which 
were  read  to  us  by  our  father  with  affectionate  pride. 
He  thought  they  possessed  great  literary  merit,  and 
often  urged  her  to  use  her  pen  for  the  magazines.  She 
was  a  woman  of  remarkable  gifts  and  attainments,  and 


172     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

charmed  the  young  nephews  and  nieces  hy  her  delight- 
ful talk  on  a  wide  range  of  subjects.  They  became 
greatly  attached  to  her,  and  her  house  was  henceforth 
regarded  bj^  some  of  them  as  a  second  home. 

The  six  eldest  children  were  with  their  parents.  The 
four  little  ones  were  left  under  the  sheltering  care 
of  their  good  aunt,  Mrs.  Augustine  Dabney,  that  the 
mother  might  have  complete  rest.  She  tried  to  enjoy 
it  all  and  to  get  well.  At  times  she  did  much  enjoy 
the  society  of  those  whom  she  had  loved  and  had  not 
seen  for  many  years.  In  Gloucester  County  the  Ex- 
change, now  owned  by  Thomas's  cousin,  Mr.  James 
Dabney,  the  only  surviving  son  of  Dr.  James  Dabney, 
was  the  house  in  which  the  large  family  of  Burleigh 
Dabneys  were  entertained.  The  beloved  uncle,  Dr. 
James  Dabney,  had  passed  away  years  before. 

James  had  married  Miss  Emory  Tabb,  the  daughter 
of  Mr.  Thomas  Tabb  of  the  old  estate  of  Toddsbury, 
Gloucester  County.  She  was  but  a  child  when  Thomas 
had  moved  from  Gloucester,  but  she  was  ready  to  wel- 
come her  husband's  cousins  as  her  own.  When  he 
drove  up  with  the  carriages  from  the  steamboat-land- 
ing, where  he  had  gone  to  meet  his  kinsmen,  his  young 
wife  was  standing  on  the  portico  of  the  Exchange 
with  both  hands  held  out. 

My  mother's  maid,  Aunt  Abby,  brought  our  number 
up  to  nine,  and  a  distant  connection  of  my  mother's, 
whom  she  had  picked  up  in  Baltimore,  made  our  party 
ten  in  number. 

The  whole-souled  mistress  of  the  Exchange  took  no 
count  of  numbers,  and  made  us  feel  that  we  were  to  be 
happy  there  as  long  as  we  chose  to  stay.  The  memory 
of  that  visit  is  among  the  brightest  in  the  lives  of  many 
of  that  party.  From  the  Exchange  the  Burleigh  Dab- 
neys visited  in  the  old  neighborhood.  The  style  of 
living  in  Gloucester,  which  the  younger  generation  had 
often  heard  described,  was  not  changed.  The  six  weeks 
spent  there  were  passed  in  driving  about  the  country, 
sailing  and  rowing  on  the  river,  and  in  attending  din- 
ner- and  evening-parties.  Music  and  dancing  were  in 
order,  not  only  in  the  evenings,  but  in  the  forenoons  as 


SUMMER    TRAVEL.  173 

well.  The  sight  of  her  children's  enjoyment  and  the 
change  of  scene  brightened  up  my  mother.  She 
thought  that  she  could  now  enjoy  the  Virginia  springs. 
But  after  going  to  several  of  the  fashionable  resorts 
she  felt  that  they  did  not  suit  her  taste.  Her  husband, 
who  watched  every  look  and  feeling,  at  once  looked 
out  for  a  quiet  spot.  This  he  found  at  "  Old  Crow's," 
the  breakfast  house  not  far  from  the  White  Sulphur 
Springs.  Here  we  spent  some  happy  weeks  rambling 
over  the  mountains  and  enjoying  the  delicious  air. 
My  father  had  keen  relish  for  it  all, — the  visits  to  his 
old  friends,  the  life  at  the  Springs,  and  the  weeks  at 
Old  Crow's.  He  used  to  say  that  when  he  set  out  to 
enjoy  himself,  even  if  it  were  only  at  a  very  poor  cir- 
cus, he  always  tried  to  see  the  pleasant  things,  and  did 
not  look  out  for  faults.  This  bright  way  of  going 
through  the  world  made  him  a  charming  travelling 
companion.  He  wished  our  party  to  have  the  full  en- 
joyment of  the  mountain  scenery,  and  he  chartered 
stages  to  take  his  family  from  one  place  to  another. 
In  this  way  we  were  never  crowded,  and  the  company 
in  the  stage  was  such  as  he  selected.  He  frequently 
invited  friends  to  go  with  us  as  his  guests.  An  inci- 
dent happened  one  day  that  amused  the  party.  My 
mother's  maid,  Aunt  Abby,  and  I  (then  in  my  fifteenth 
year)  were  sitting  together  on  the  front  seat.  We  both 
got  sleepy  at  about  the  same  time,  and  her  head  fell  on 
my  shoulder,  and  my  head  rested  on  the  top  of  hers. 
By  and  by  I  woke  up  and  raised  my  head,  but  she  was 
still  sleeping.  Papa  was  laughing  heartily  at  the  scene 
when  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  so  was  M.  Pierre  Soule, 
our  guest  for  the  day.  Aunt  Abby  was  too  dear  an 
old  friend  to  be  disturbed,  and  she  had  her  nap  out. 
The  good  soul  was  quite  embarrassed  when  she  awoke 
to  find  how  she  had  been  violating  the  proprieties, — ■ 
that  was  her  view  of  it. 

The  father  had  no  plan  for  that  summer,  except  to 
follow  the  pleasure  that  seemed  to  present  itself.  One 
day  we  got  off  the  train  to  dine  at  Staunton.  The 
hotel  was  new  and  clean,  the  scenery  lovely,  and  the 
dinner  all  that  could  be  desired.    We  were  in  the  humor 

15* 


174     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

to  enjoy  everything,  and  were  eager  in  our  expressions 
of  admiration.  "  Shall  I  have  the  trunks  taken  off  the 
train  and  stay  here  a  week?"  my  dear  father  asked  in 
his  delightful  impulsive  way.  The  motion  was  carried 
by  acclamation.  I  do  not  know  what  arguments  he 
used,  but  he  ran  from  the  dinner-table  to  the  baggage- 
car,  and  he  got  the  luggage  taken  off.  No  one  could 
easily  refuse  him  anything,  he  was  so  good-natured, — 
it  seemed  contagious. 

Some  one  has  said  that  the  name  of  one  old  Yirginian 
to  another  old  Virginian  is  as  a  trumpet  to  a  war-horse. 
Our  experience  at  Staunton  and  elsewhere  that  summer 
went  far  to  prove  the  truth  of  this  statement.  Thomas 
met  friends  at  Staunton,  old  and  new.  Some  were 
friends  whom  he  had  lost  sight  of  in  the  passing  years. 

The  younger  members  made  excursions  about  the 
country,  and  explored  Weir's  Cave,  and  filled  up  the 
week  as  they  pleased. 

One  day  we  were  going  from  Washington  City  to  the 
White  Sulphur  Springs,  and  President  Pierce  and  his 
wife  and  several  members  of  his  household  got  on  the 
train.  The  conductor  asked  Mr.  Dabney  to  bring  his 
family  to  join  the  Presidential  party  in  the  car  where 
Mr.  Pierce  and  his  family  sat.  So  we  went  in.  Poor 
Mrs.  Pierce  was  a  sweet-looking  lady.  She  had  lately 
lost  her  only  child,  a  son,  and  was  clad  in  the  deepest 
mourning.  She  seemed  overwhelmed  with  her  grief, 
and  we  did  not  see  her  smile  that  day.  Mr.  Pierce  was 
sad,  too,  and  very  tender  in  his  manner  to  her.  His 
manner  to  every  one  was  kind  and  subdued  and  very 
attractive. 

During  the  day  one  of  Mr.  Dabney's  children  became 
ill  with  a  chill.  Mr.  Pierce  showed  his  kind  heart  by 
trying  to  relieve  her.  He  asked  her  father  not  to  let 
her  ride  backwards,  and  in  many  little  solicitous  ways 
showed  his  sympathy.  Thomas  Dabney  had  been  pre- 
judiced against  Mr.  Pierce.  This  kind  attention  to  his 
child  removed  the  unpleasant  impressions,  which,  after 
all,  referred  only  to  politics.  The  kindness  reminded 
him  of  Charles's  admiration  of  Mr.  Pierce,  and  he  never 
criticised  him  harshly  again. 


SUMMER    TRAVEL.  175 

At  all  the  towns  through  which  the  trains  passed 
the  people  were  gathered  in  crowds  to  see  the  Presi- 
dent. But  he  sat  in  the  corner  of  his  seat  in  his  quiet, 
simple  fashion,  and  most  of  them  went  away  without 
having  been  able  to  find  out  which  was  he.  At  one 
station,  the  eager  face  of  a  little  boy  attracted  Thomas's 
attention.  "Where  is  the  President?"  he  was  asking 
in  an  excited  voice.  Thomas  put  his  hand  out  of  the 
window  and  beckoned  to  the  child.  "Come  here,  my 
little  fellow,"  he  said,  "  I  will  show  the  President  to 
you."  But  the  crowd  of  men  as  well  as  the  boy  saw 
the  hand  waved  from  the  window,  and  at  once  several 
of  these  rushed  up  and  thrust  their  heads  into  Thomas's 
window.  The  lad  had  no  chance.  As  he  turned,  and 
walked  disconsolately  away,  he  said,  with  a  burst  of 
tears,  "  I  ain't  going  to  lose  my  dinner  again  to  see  no 
more  Presidents." 

We   had   an    ex-Presidential    party   at   the   Warm 

Springs, — the .  Mrs. ,  for  a  reason  which  could 

only  be  conjectured,  as  it  was  neither  useful  nor  be- 
coming, wore  a  tiara  of  diamonds,  curiously  suggestive 
of  a  queen's  crown.  It  was  said  that  she  never  ap- 
peared in  company  without  it.  She  certainly  had  it 
on  when  she  alighted   from  the  dusty  stage  at  the 

Warm   Springs.     She   spoke   of always  as  "  the 

President." 

In  travelling  through  Ohio  that  summer,  the  chil- 
dren of  the  party  informed  Aunt  Abby  that  she  was 
free,  and  that  of  course  she  was  going  to  leave  them, 
and  they  proceeded  to  seize  her  hand  with  loud  good- 
byes. This  was  amusing  to  them,  but  Aunt  Abby  looked 
at  it  as  anything  but  amusing.  She  bui'st  into  floods 
of  tears,  and  her  mistress  put  a  stop  to  the  teasing  of 
the  children.  The  master  had  to  reassure  her,  by  tell- 
ing her  what  to  say  if  any  one  should  try  to  carry  her 
off.  In  Cincinnati  two  men  got  on  the  train  and  went 
at  once  to  her,  asking  if  she  were  free.  True  to  her 
master's  instructions,  she  answered  yes.  "  You  are  free 
as  long  as  you  are  in  Ohio,"  he  had  said.  "  You  will 
only  be  saying  what  is  true."  She  looked  so  frightened 
and  wretched  that  the  men  did  not  believe  her,  and 


176      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

plied  her  with  more  questions,  but  nothing  could  he 
got  out  of  her.  She  thought  that  they  really  meant  to 
drag  her  out  and  make  her  free  whether  she  wished  it 
or  not,  as  the  children  had  said  they  would.  She  got 
down  on  the  floor  of  the  car,  and  squeezed  herself  under 
the  seat  on  which  her  master  and  mistress  sat,  and 
could  not  be  persuaded  for  some  hours  to  leave  her 
hiding-place.  Another  Mississippi  family,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hinton,  were  on  the  same  train,  and  they  also  had  a 
servant  with  them.  This  servant  and  Aunt  Abby  had 
formed  quite  a  friendship  on  the  journey,  and  sat  to- 
gether on  the  car.  She  answered  the  abolitionists  as 
Aunt  Abby  did,  and  the  men  left  the  train  without  ac- 
complishing any  other  object  than  to  give  amusement 
to  the  Southern  travellers  and  to  frighten  the  two 
servants. 

Friends  and  acquaintances  attached  themselves  to 
our  party  as  we  journeyed  about  the  country,  till  we 
got  to  be  seventeen  in  number.  One  day  fny  father 
was  marshalling  us  out  of  a  dining-room,  where  the 
train  had  stopped  for  dinner.  He  told  the  man  at  the 
door  that  he  had  seventeen  eating  dinner,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded to  count  us  as  we  filed  out.  As  mamma  came, 
"  There's  my  wife,"  he  cried,  "  she  counts  for  two." 
The  door-keeper,  who  up  to  this  time  had  kept  a  close 
eye  on  us,  cried  out,  laughing,  "  Oh,  sir,  do  not  count 
any  more.  It  is  all  right,  I  know.  I  am  satisfied." 
And  he  took  the  money  that  my  father  put  in  his  hand 
without  looking  longer  at  the  advancing  column. 

The  mother  seemed  benefited  by  the  long  absence 
from  home  and  home  cares.  She  wrote  to  one  of  her 
absent  children,  after  they  were  settled  once  more  at 
Burleigh, — 

"I  know  that  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  I  am  better 
than  when  you  saw  me.  I  take  a  good  deal  of  interest 
in  my  housekeeping  now." 

It  had  been  a  grief  to  her  that  she  took  no  interest 
in  anything. 

The  main  interest  in  the  life  of  the  parents  in  this 
winter  (1855-1856)  was  the  education  of  the  children. 
The  father's  ambition  for  his  children  was  great.     He 


SUMMER    TRAVEL.  177 

wished  them  to  excel  in  everything,  and  was  propor- 
tionally disappointed  when  they  failed.  The  mother 
was  not  less  in  earnest  about  their  education,  but  she 
did  not  expect  impossibilities  as  he  did.  To  her  thir- 
teen-year-old Emmy  the  mother  wrote: 

"  I  am  making  a  wadded  wrapper  for  you  to  study 
hard  in.  ...  I  trust  you  and  Sophy  will  go  hard  to 
work.  You  must  always  be  at  the  head  of  your  class. 
Let  me  hear  from  you  frequently,  and  tell  me  exactly 
how  you  stand  in  your  classes." 

She  had  no  ear  for  music,  and  understood  that  her 
children  could  hardly  be  expected  to  be  very  proficient 
in  that.  But  Thomas  desired  and  expected  his  daugh- 
ters to  perform  like  professionals.  He  was  excessively 
fond  of  music,  although  he  never  learned  to  play  on 
any  instrument  except  the  flute,  on  which  he  played 
very  poorly,  and  he  gave  that  up  as  soon  as  he  heard 
better  music  from  his  children's  fingers.  He  filled  the 
house  with  musical  instruments, — two  pianos,  and  a 
harp,  and  a  flute  or  so,  and,  later  on,  a  melodeon  for 
sacred  music. 

The  daughters  tried  hard  to  come  up  to  his  ideal, 
and  studied  music  and  practised  many  hours  for  years. 
But  only  one,  Spphy,  realized  his  dream.  Her  music 
was  a  great  delight  to  him  and  a  source  of  almost  un- 
bounded pride. 

Music  with  Virginius  was  a  passion  from  his  cradle. 
At  the  time  that  the  Belgian  violinist  was  at  Burleigh 
he  showed  such  a  love  for  it,  that  his  mother  became 
seriously  uneasy  lest  he  should  be  unfitted  for  life  by  giv- 
ing himself  up  to  the  study  of  the  violin.  He  was  allowed 
to  buy  a  violin  from  the  young  musician,  but  he  received 
no  encouragement  to  apply  himself  to  the  study  of  it, 
and  did  not  till  he  went  to  Europe,  after  his  course  at 
the  University  was  over.  It  was  a  very  uncommon 
thing  in  those  daj's  for  the  sons  of  American  parents 
to  be  taught  music. 

The  father  expected  all  his  sons  to  take  the  degree 
of  Master  of  Arts  at  the  University  of  Virginia. 
They  might  give  themselves  as  many  years  as  they 
chose  to  get  it  in,  but  they  must  bring  that  home  eventu- 


178     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

ally.  They  found  mathematics  the  great  obstacle,  and 
gave  up  trying  to  get  through  on  that.  They  had 
diplomas  to  show  to  him  after  each  commencement, 
but  he  was  never  satisfied  because  they  had  not  taken 
the  whole  course. 

He  was  not  a  man  to  go  by  halves  in  anything.  He 
could  hate  and  detest  as  well  as  love  and  admire.  His 
belief  in  human  nature  made  him  see  the  good  in  every 
man  at  first,  and  he  thought  well  of  even  the  most 
unprepossessing  until  forced  to  believe  ill  of  them. 
When  once  he  had  seen  anything  mean  or  untrue  in  a 
man,  it  was  wellnigh  useless  to  try  to  make  him  see 
ari7  good  in  that  man  afterwards.  His  prejudices 
carried  him  away  as  far  in  the  opposite  direction  as 
his  good  nature  had  carried  him  in  the  man's  favor. 
He  was  strong  in  all  his  feelings,  and  it  was  difficult 
for  him  to  overlook  or  forgive  such  faults  as  arose 
from  narrowness  and  dishonesty  of  purpose.  His 
wife's  influence  was  great,  and  she  used  it  unceasingly 
to  soften  this  disposition  in  him.  She  tried,  too,  to 
prevent  him  from  expressing  his  adverse  opinions  of 
men  and  things  as  openly  and  imprudently  as  he  did. 
He  was  incapable  of  dissembling  or  even  concealing  a 
feeling  if  he  saw  anything  going  on  that  he  thought 
wrong.  He  could  not  even  be  made  to  see  any  virtue 
in  restraining  the  expression  of  his  disapprobation  at 
such  times.  But  he  yielded  his  judgment  to  hers  in 
many  instances,  because  he  could  not  bear  to  differ  with 
her  in  anything,  however  insignificant. 

He  spoke  as  openly  to  people  as  behind  their  backs. 
It  was  often  a  subject  of  marvel  that  he  was  allowed 
to  say  what  another  man  could  hardly  have  done  with 
impunity. 

As  an  instance  of  this,  he  one  day  spoke  sharply  to 
Colonel  McClung,  the  famous  duellist  of  Mississippi. 
It  was  said  that  Colonel  McClung  had  killed  five  men, 
and  had  grown  reckless  and  bad-tempered  and  easy  to 
take  offence,  especially  when  he  was  drinking.  One 
day  Thomas  went  up  to  Cooper's  Wells,  and  on  alighting 
saw  Colonel  McClung.  He  saw  at  once  that  he  was  in- 
toxicated, and  tried  to  avoid  him,  but  Colonel  McClunar 


SUMMER-TIME— FALLING   ASLEEP.  179 

was  fond  of  whist  and  fond  of  Thomas  as  a  partner, 
and  followed  him,  insisting  on  a  game.  There  was  no 
getting  out  of  it,  as  the  part  of  prudence  dictated. 
Colonel  McClung  played  carelessly,  a  thing  annoying 
to  his  partner,  and  he  spoke  sharply.  "  Do  you  speak 
so  to  me,  sir?"  Colonel  McClung  asked,  raising  his  eyes 
of  fire,  his  whole  frame  quivering  with  suppressed  pas- 
sion. But  his  eyes  of  fire  met  the  eyes  of  a  lion.  "I 
do,  sir." 

Colonel  McClung  saw  that  he  could  not  daunt  that 
man.  Tie  gazed  at  him  a  moment.  "  I  thought  that 
he  meant  to  challenge  me,"  Thomas  said,  in  speaking 
of  it  afterwards.  "  Every  gentleman  there  thought 
that  he  would  challenge  me.  But  he  calmed  down  in  a 
moment  and,  to  the  surprise  of  everybody,  said,  '  You 
are  right,  Colonel  Dabney;  I  did  revoke  and  play 
carelessly.     I  shall  do  better,  sir.'  " 

"  Did  you  ever  have  the  feeling  of  fear  in  your  life, 
papa?"  one  of  his  children  asked  one  day.  "  I  cannot 
remember,  my  dear,  that  I  ever  did,"  he  said,  in  a 
musing  way,  as  if  he  had  not  more  than  half  heard 
the  question  and  took  no  interest  in  it. 


CHAPTEE  XY. 

SUMMER-TIME — PALLING   ASLEEP. 

The  summers  of  1856-57-58  were  spent  by  the  family 
at  Burleigh.  Indeed,  from  this  time,  the  house  was 
not  again  closed  in  summer.  Occasionally  some  mem- 
bers of  the  family  went  to  Mississippi  City  on  the  sea- 
coast  for  the  change,  or  to  the  Hinds  County  watering- 
place,  Cooper's  Wells,  or  to  the  Yirginia  springs  or 
farther  north;  but  of  so  large  a  family,  some  were 
always  at  home  after  the  Pass  Christian  house  had 
been  sold. 

The  summers  grew  to  be  the  gayest  season  at  Bur- 


180     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

leigh.  The  house  was  nearly  always  crowded  with 
guests.  Everybody  in  the  neighborhood  kept  open 
house.  Friends  from  towns  and  cities  found  it  the 
pleasant  time  to  visit  the  country,  and  there  were  other 
reasons  for  their  coming  too.  It  was  safe  from  the 
yellow  fever.  In  yellow  fever  summers  entire  house- 
holds, including,  of  course,  servants  and  children  of  all 
ages,  were  entertained.  Sometimes  for  weeks,  and  even 
months,  the  white  family  numbered  from  twenty  to 
twenty -five  persons,  and  sometimes  more.  Music  and 
dancing,  charades  and  games,  cards,  l'iding  on  horse- 
back, and  wagon-  and  carriage-driving  were  the  diver- 
sions. One  yellow  fever  summer  we  got  up  a  history 
class,  and  everybody  had  every  morning  to  sit  in  a  long 
line  in  the  hall  and  answer  in  his  or  her  turn  a  question 
or  two  in  English  history.  Blunders  gave  more  uni- 
versal satisfaction  than  accurate  knowledge,  and  it 
ceased  to  be  a  disgrace  to  be  unable  to  answer  very 
simple  questions.  One  summer  a  church  fair  absorbed 
a  great  deal  of  time  and  thought.  One  winter  we 
young  people  and  our  guests  took  up  English  poetry. 
It  became  a  rage  to  study  the  best  English  poetry  and 
recite  it  to  each  other  on  long  walks.  We  learned  sev- 
eral thousand  lines  before  the  enthusiasm  died  out.  A 
lady  who  spent  many  weeks  and  months  there  in  these 
years  used  to  say  tbat  she  had  learned  more  at  the 
"  Burleigh  Academy"  than  at  any  other  tbat  she  had 
ever  attended.  A  well-selected  library  of  thirteen  hun- 
dred volumes  put  all  the  standard  authors  within  reach. 
One  of  the  best  actors  in  the  charades  was  our  father. 
The  only  objection  to  him  was  that  he  was  so  amusing 
to  the  other  actors  that  they  could  scarcely  get  through 
with  their  parts.  Any  one  who  excelled  in  anything 
that  could  entertain  the  company  was  called  on  to  do 
it.  There  were  few  who  did  not  catch  the  spirit  of  the 
house  and  join  in  whatever  was  on  foot.  One  young 
friend,  whodanced  the  Fisher's  Hornpipe  and  the  Ca- 
chuca  very  gracefully,  was  dressed  in  fancy  costume 
and  made  to  dance  her  pas  seal  every  time  that  she 
made  a  visit.  In  the  garret  were  trunks  of  fancy  cos- 
tumes, masks,   etc.,   for   such   occasions, — some   were 


SUMMER-TIME— FALLING  ASLEEP.  181 

bought,  but  most  of  them  were  fabricated  out  of  old 
finery.  Poetry  and  speeches  were  declaimed,  and  songs 
sung  by  people  who  had  not  dreamed  that  they  had  so 
much  in  them  before. 

An  English  gentleman,  an  Oxford  man,  who  spent 
a  summer  there  under  these  happy  conditions,  said  that 
the  entertainment  at  Burleigh  was  like  that  in  English 
houses.  Sufficient  attention  was  paid  to  visitors  to 
make  them  comfortable,  and  to  make  them  understand 
that  their  society  was  desired,  but  they  were  allowed 
to  follow  their  own  bent  in  disposing  of  their  time. 
Mrs.  Dabney's  quiet  dignity  and  her  husband's  high 
spirits  and  vivacious  temperament  were  just  the  com- 
plementary qualities  needed  for  a  delightful  home  at- 
mosphere. 

Burleigh  was  loved  almost  like  a  home  by  some  of 
the  coming  and  going  guests,  and  by  one  or  two  young 
boys  who  had  lived  there  as  members  of  the  family, — 
the  sons  of  friends  or  relations. 

The  summer  of  1858  was  one  of  the  gayest  known 
at  Burleigh.  During  the  summers  of  1859  and  1860 
some  of  the  young  members  of  the  family  travelled  in 
the  North. 

Among  the  guests  at  Burleigh  in  these  years  none 
were  oftener  there,  or  contributed  more  to  the  happi- 
ness of  the  house,  than  the  Raymond  Dabneys.  The 
brilliant  band  of  sisters  in  the  Raymond  household  were 
the  most  welcome  visitors  who  came  to  Burleigh,  and 
the  brothers  were  looked  on  almost  as  sons  of  the 
house. 

Thomas  and  Sophia  felt  a  just  pride  in  this  charming 
family  of  four  nephews  and  five  nieces.  In  their  turn 
they  honored  Thomas  almost  as  a  second  father,  and 
Sophia  was  the  dearest  of  their  aunts. 

Thomas  was  the  friend  of  young  men,  and  encour- 
aged and  assisted  all  who  applied  to  him.  During  their 
University  days  two  of  his  sons,  Charles  and  Yirginius, 
wrote  to  him  of  worthy  young  men  who  were  strug- 
gling to  educate  themselves  and  were  in  need  of  money. 
In  both  cases  he  sent  a  check  for  five  hundred  dollars 
to  his  sons,  to  hand  to  their  friends  as  a  gift.     The  fol- 

16 


182,    MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

lowing  letter  from  a  young  friend  will  throw  light  on 
this  side  of  his  character : 

.  .  .  "Aunt  S.  told  me  the  other  day  of  something 
which  I  was  glad  to  hear,  because  it  makes  me  feel 
nearer  than  ever  to  you  all.  It  was  simply  an  act  of 
generosity  on  the  part  of  your  father,  which  would 
stand  without  a  parallel  in  the  experience  of  those 
greatly  older  and  more  acquainted  with  life  and  human 
nature  than  I  am.  I  suppose  you  have  heard  it,  but 
may  I  repeat  it  ? 

"  At  the  time  of  a  commercial  crisis  in  New  Orleans, 

when  three  of  my  uncles,  , ,  and  ,  were 

thought  to  be  embarrassed,  your  father  heard  of  it  and 
sent  to  them  a  blank  check,  stating  the  amount  he  had 
in  bank  (fifty  thousand  dollars  or  more,  I  think),  and 
instructing  them  to  draw  upon  it  to  the  whole  amount, 
if  necessary  to  prevent  their  name  from  going  to  pro- 
test. I  do  not  think  the  check  was  used,  but  the  gen- 
erous friendship  of  the  deed  remains." 

The  incident  is  true,  except  as  regards  the  amount 
offered.  It  was  not  over  twenty-five  thousand  dollars, 
or,  at  most,  thirty  thousand  dollars,  as  he  never  had  in 
bank  more  than  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  of  a  single 
crop,  and  his  largest  cotton  crop  brought  thirty  thou- 
sand dollars. 

He  sent  a  check  for  fifty  dollars  to  every  church  that 
applied  to  him  for  aid,  without  regard  to  its  creed. 

He  was  so  lavish  in  providing  for  his  family  that  his 
wife  and  daughters  learned  not  to  trust  him  to  make 
purchases,  because  he  got  so  much  more  than  was 
needed. 

A  few  illustrations  of  this  Avill  show  his  ideas  on  such 
matters.  Sophia  asked  him  one  day  to  buy  a  brooch 
for  the  eldest  girl.  He  was  so  pleased  with  the  com- 
mission that  he  bought  six,  two  apiece  for  the  three 
eldest.  Another  day  she  asked  for  two  diamond  rings  ; 
the  two  eldest  daughters  had  practised  their  music 
faithfully  and  this  was  to  be  a  reward.  The  next  two 
she  thought  too  young  for  diamond  rings.     He  bought 


SUMMER-TIME— FALLING  ASLEEP.  183 

four, — it  would  not  do  to  make  a  difference,  he  said. 
When  one  watch  was  sent  for  he  bought  three. 

Sometimes  his  shopping  experiences  were  really  ludi- 
crous. On  his  return  from  New  Orleans  one  winter  he 
brought  in  the  place  of  a  pink  silk-tissue  dress,  that 
had  been  on  his  memorandum  for  one  of  the  daughters, 
a  quantity  of  some  costly  stuff  for  the  entire  family. 
It  had  struck  his  fancy,  and  he  had  gotten  enough  of 
it  to  make  dresses  for  Sophia  and  each  of  her  daughters. 
It  was  neither  tasteful  nor  suitable. 

But  the  dear  mother,  with  that  rare  unworldliness 
and  lack  of  ostentation  that  sometimes  brought  a  smile 
to  the  faces  of  her  friends,  had  the  dresses  made  up — 
five  or  six  of  them — all  alike. 

And  the  dear  father  admired,  and  thought  that  we 
would  always  be  willing  to  trust  to  his  taste  in  the 
future. 

He  looked  on  it  as  a  great  sin  in  parents  to  show  a 
preference  for  one  child  over  another.  It  was  unpar- 
donable to  feel  it,  he  said,  unworthy  of  a  true  father  or 
mother.  He  said  that  be  loved  all  his  children  alike, 
and  he  should  feel  like  tearing  his  heart  from  his  bosom 
if  he  did  not.  I  never  saw  any  one  feel  so  strongly  on 
this  subject, — the  cruel  injustice  of  it  struck  him  afresh 
when  some  instance  came  to  his  knowledge  of  some 
parent  who  felt  otherwise  than  himself. 

His  children  can  testify,  from  full  hearts,  the  unspeak- 
able comfort  of  the  impartial  love  of  father  and  mother. 

During  all  these  years,  since  Charles's  death,  the 
mother's  health  had  been  failing.  Her  husband  did 
everything  that  devoted  love  could  prompt.  They 
went  on  trips  to  pleasant  places,  and  on  visits  to  pleas- 
ant houses.  Still,  as  time  passed,  she  grew  no  better. 
It  was  now  seven  years  since  her  great  sorrow,  but  it 
seemed  to  bear  her  down  more  than  ever  before.  She 
began  to  say  that  she  was  tired  of  bringing  up  her 
young  children.  "  I  do  not  bring  them  up  as  I  did  the 
others,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not  able  to  do  it.  My  daugh- 
ters could  take  better  care  of  them."  And  when  she 
was  ill,  and  we  worked  to  save  her,  she  said,  ';  Oh,  why 
did  you  not  let  me  die?"     When  she  thought  that  she 


184:     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

was  dying  her  lips  moved  and  a  daughter's  ear  caught 
the  humble  praj'er,  "  B-less  my  children.  Make  them 
useful  members  of  society."  She  was  spared  to  us  some 
months  after  this. 

The  land  began  to  be  full  of  the  talk  of  the  coming 
war.  Thomas  was  an  Old-Line  Whig,  and  that  is  as 
much  as  to  say  he  was  a  Union  man.  He  despised 
the  "Blue-Cockade  Men,"  as  he  called  the  secessionists, 
on  account  of  the  badge  that  many  wore  before  hostil- 
ities began.  He  felt  sure  that  they  would  not  be  the 
men  to  shoulder  their  rifles  when  real  work  had  to  be 
done.  He  did  all  that  he  could,  in  his  neighborhood 
and  through  the  press,  to  calm  the  excited  feelings  that 
the  demagogues  were  lashing  to  a  frenzy.  He  believed 
that  the  leaders  were  getting  the  war  up  to  further 
their  own  ambitious  schemes.  From  the  first  he  doubted 
not  that  it  would  be  a  terrible  conflict;  it  had  been 
brewing  too  many  j^ears  to  be  other  than  terrible. 

He  foresaw  that  in  any  event,  whether  conquered 
or  victorious,  the  South  would  be  ruined. 

"  If  the  South  succeeds,"  he  said,  "  this  will  be  but 
the  beginning  of  secessions." 

He  decided  to  sell  everything  that  he  owned  and  to 
move,  before  it  was  too  late,  to  England  with  all  his 
family. 

When  his  plans  were  fully  made,  he  spoke  to  Sophia 
one  night, — 

"My  deal',  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  sell  our 
property  and  to  get  out  of  this  country  at  once.  We 
shall  go  to  England.  We  have  enough  to  enable  us  to 
live  there  with  our  children." 

"Yes,  my  dear;  but  what  will  you  do  with  Abby?" 

The  question  was  unanswerable.  It  opened  up  a 
whole  vista  of  similar  ones.  "  What  will  you  do  with 
Maria,  with  Harriet,  with  their  children  and  husbands  ?" 
He  could  set  one  or  two  free  and  provide  annuities,  but 
if  he  tried  to  make  all  his  servants  comfortable  whom 
he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  sell,  it  would  be  quite 
impossible  for  him  to  take  his  family  to  live  in  England. 

That  question  of  my  good  mother's  settled  forever 
his  mind  and  the  destiny  of  her  house. 


SUMMER-TIME— FALLING  ASLEEP.  185 

Thomas  Dabney  and  his  wife  deliberately  chose  to  go 
down  with  their  country. 

Has  not  their  daughter,  then,  the  right 'to  say,  as  was 
said  at  the  beginning  of  these  memorials,  that  the  tie 
between  this  master  and  his  slaves  was  as  sacred  and 
binding,  if  not  as  near,  as  the  tie  of  blood  ? 

But  the  mother  who  almost  forgot  her  own  children 
that  night  on  her  pillow  to  stand  up  for  her  slaves, 
was  not  to  see  the  desolation  that  was  even  now  at  her 
doors. 

We  did  not  know  it  then,  but  on  the  9th  of  January, 
1861,  Mississippi  was  to  throw  off  her  allegiance  to  the 
United  States  government. 

Three  weeks  before  that  9th  of  January,  one  week 
before  that  last  Christmas  before  the  war,  Thomas  was 
standing  in  the  dining-room,  near  Sophia,  when  she 
called  to  him  suddenly.  He  threw  out  his  arms  just  in 
time  to  catch  her,  and  she  sank  on  his  breast. 

She  never  spoke  afterwards  to  him  or  to  any  one  else. 
She  fell  asleep  as  he  held  her  in  his  arms,  and  he  took 
her  to  her  bed. 

She  slept  for  nearly  four  days,  while  her  physicians 
and  her  large  family  and  many  relations  and  friends 
gathered  around  her. 

Thomas  was  with  her  day  and  night,  sitting  or  lying 
by  her  side, — his  fingers  on  her  pulse, — scarcely  hearing 
his  children  when  they  begged  him  to  take  some  care 
of  himself. 

He  felt  the  last  pulsation  of  that  loved  heart.  The 
breath  had  come  more  and  more  faintly,  and  at  longer 
intervals,  and  he  knew  that  the  end  was  at  hand. 

"  It  is  over,"  he  said,  as  he  rose  to  go  towards  his 
children. 

Five  daughters  and  two  sons  were  there,  the  youngest 
child  seven  years  of  age.  The  two  oldest  sons  only 
were  absent,  and  one  daughter. 

Two  of  the  children  were  married,  and  two  others 
grown  men  and  women,  but  to  him  they  were  all  to  be 
from  this  day  his  motherless  children. 

During  our  mother's  lifetime  he  was  sometimes  a 
stern  father.     But  from  the  day  on  which  his  lonely 

16* 


186      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

widowhood  began  he  was  never  again  other  than  the 
tenderest  mother  could  have  been.  His  whole  nature 
seemed  changed.  He  was  father  and  mother  in  one. 
The  wise,  strong  judgment  and  counsel  of  the  man  were 
there,  but  blended  now  with  a  pitying  compassion  and 
sympathy  that  were  more  than  womanly.  It  was  such 
tenderness  as  only  the  strong  and  brave  can  feel. 

He  missed  so  sorely  the  loving  and  congenial  and 
ennobling  companionship  that  for  thirty-four  years  had 
been  his,  that  he  could  not  bear  to  see  his  children 
suffer  any  approach  to  what  he  felt.  The  constraint 
that  he  put  upon  himself  to  appear  cheerful  was  the 
most  touching  part  of  his  grief,  and  we  feared  at  times 
that  his  heart  would  break.  During  that  perfect  union 
there  had  been  not  one  jar  or  disagreement. 

The  only  large  wedding  that  took  place  in  the  Bur- 
leigh house  was  on  the  occasion  of  the  marriage  of 
Susan  to  Lyell  Smedes.  She  had  been  engaged  to  him 
for  two  years,  and  her  parents,  who  were  much  at- 
tached to  him,  warmly  approved  her  choice.  The 
servants  long  remembered  the  wedding-feast  on  this 
happy  event;  every  man,  woman,  and  child  on  the 
plantation  was  remembered  in  the  wedding-cakes  and 
other  good  things. 

It  was  during  the  short  married  life  that  followed 
this  event  that  our  mother  passed  away.  Lyell's  pres- 
ence was  especially  comforting  to  our  father.  His  own 
children  could  not  cheer  him  as  the  son-in-law  did. 
But  the  dear  father  was  unselfish  in  his  grief  as  in 
everything  else. 

"  Do  not  stay  with  me,"  he  said  ;  "  go  and  take  your 
young  wife  in  your  arms  and  comfort  her  as  I  com- 
forted her  mother  when  she  was  young  and  when  she 
was  old."  In  a  few  weeks  the  household  was  plunged 
into  a  new  and  deep  sorrow  by  the  death  of  this  hus- 
band of  eleven  weeks. 

The  following  extract  is  taken  from  his  fathei''s* 
meditations  on  the  morning's  lesson  for  Sexagesima 
Sunday.     It  will  throw  light  on  a  character  of  singular 

*  Rev.  Aldert  Smedes. 


SUMMER-TIME— FALLING   ASLEEP.  187 

beauty  and  guilelessness,  and  on  a  life  which  passed  so 
quickly  from  the  home-circle  at  Burleigh  : 

..."  We  shall  deduce  hut  one  lesson  from  this  in- 
teresting story :  it  is,  the  honor  in  which  God  holds  filial 
obedience !  .  .  .  Let  the  true  moral,  then,  of  the  story 
of  the  Rechabites  sink  into  every  heart.  It  was  their 
obedience  to  their  father  for  which  God  held  them  in 
honor.  '  Thus  saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  the  God  of 
Israel,  Because  ye  have  obeyed  the  commandment  of 
Jonadab,  your  father,  and  kept  his  precepts,  and  done 
according  to  all  that  he  hath  commanded  you :  there- 
fore, thus  saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  Jonadab,  the  son  of 
Rechab,  shall  not  want  a  man  to  stand  before  me  forever.' 

"  In  what  precise  sense  this  promise  was  fulfilled  to 
the  father  of  the  Rechabites  it  is  not  our  purpose  to 
inquire.  But  to  every  Christian  father  of  an  obedient 
son  the  words  assume  a  meaning  as  true  as  it  is  full 
of  encouragement  and  blessing. 

"  That  son  may  grow  up  before  his  father,  the  delight 
of  his  eyes,  the  pride  of  his  heart,  with  all  the  inno- 
cence and  graces  of  a  childhood  baptized  into  Christ, 
gradually  developing  under  parental  culture,  blessed 
of  heaven,  into  the  traits  and  virtues  of  a  boyhood 
and  youth,  eager  and  joyous  in  every  active  sport, 
sedulous  in  every  appropriate  duty,  and  restrained 
from  every  excess  of  riot.  Having  won  in  this  incipi- 
ent stage,  hj  amiability,  docility,  and  a  habitual  prefer- 
ence of  others  to  himself,  the  good  will  and  esteem  of 
preceptors,  companions,  and  parents,  he  may  be  sent 
with  trembling,  but  with  trust,  to  the  ordeal  of  col- 
lege life.  Amid  the  temptations  which  there  beset  the 
young  he  may  be  enabled  to  hold  fast  his  integrity. 
Every  letter  from  himself,  every  report  from  the 
authorities,  every  testimony  of  his  many  friends  may 
cheer  the  anxious  hearts  of  the  circle  at  home,  with 
evidence  that  he  has  not  forgotten  the  precepts  of  his 
father's  house  nor  forsaken  the  law  of  his  mother's 
lips.  At  length,  carrying  with  him  the  honors  of  his 
college  and  the  hearts  of  all  who  shared  his  labors  in 
its  halls,  he  is  launched  upon  the  business  of  the  world. 


188      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

An  independent  and  successful  career  opens  almost 
immediately  upon  him,  but  it  is  one  exposed  to  many 
and  great  dangers.  Yet,  though  now  of  age  to  choose 
his  own  path,  he  does  not  forsake  the  paths  in  which 
he  has  been  trained.  He  obeys  a  father's  wishes  by  be- 
coming an  aid  to  his  pastor  in  the  Sunday-school  and 
in  the  choir ;  he  is  regularly  present  when  the  sanctu- 
ary opens  its  doors ;  on  all  occasions  and  in  every  com- 
pany he  evinces  his  reverence  for  religion  and  for 
sacred  things.  A  stranger  in  the  place  where  his  busi- 
ness has  led  him,  he  soon  makes  in  every  one  of  its 
inhabitants  a  friend. 

"At  length  the  time  arrives  when,  after  years  of  ab- 
sence, he  is  to  be  held  once  more  to  the  bosom  which 
pillowed  his  infancy.  He  brings  back  to  his  home  a 
form  matured,  indeed,  into  the  fullest  and  firmest  ex- 
pression of  manly  vigor,  but  a  countenance  flushed 
with  the  same  rosy  innocence  and  beaming  with  the 
same  sweet  smile  which  rendered  his  infancy  attrac- 
tive. 

"It  was  impossible  to  see  his  expanded  chest,  his 
elastic  but  firm  step,  his  appearance  of  health  and 
manly  vigor  without  the  conviction  that  his  body  was 
a  temple  which  no  foul  excess  had  defiled.  While  the 
cheerfulness,  amiability,  and  kindness  that  made  his 
face  shine  almost  as  an  angel's  and  were  expressed  in 
every  gesture  towards  those  with  whom  he  conversed, 
were  the  same  tokens  of  a  heart  as  loving  and  guile- 
less as  a  child's. 

"  But  his  brief  reprieve  from  business  expires,  and  he 
hurries  to  his  adopted  home  to  claim  the  dearest  prize 
this  earth  contains  for  man.  G-od  has  crowned  the 
mercies  of  a  life  unusually  blessed  by  giving  to  him  the 
bride  whom  his  heart  had  chosen.  One  brother  per- 
forms the  sacred  service,  another  assists  as  his  nearest 
friend.  A  crowd  of  relatives  and  friends,  with  tears 
and  smiles  and  warm  congratulations,  attest  their  sym- 
pathy and  joy.  The  bride  and  groom  in  the  bloom  of 
health  and  youth  and  beauty  stand,  happiest  of  the 
happy,  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  as  full  of  kindness, 
gayety,  love,  and  hope  as  ever  such  an  occasion  assem- 


SUMMER-TIME— FALLING   ASLEEP.  189 

bled.  Surely  the  father  of~  a  son  so  placed,  though 
realizing  the  scene  only  from  a  great  way  off,  might  be 
excused  if,  amid  other  thoughts  it  suggested,  this  one 
should  stand  prominently  out,  'that  he  should  not 
want  a  man  to  stand  before  God  forever.' 

"  But  a  cloud  soon  passed  over  this  cheerful  sky  !  It 
was  shi'ouded  in  the  blackness  of  night !  In  his  mys- 
terious wisdom  and  goodness  it  pleased  the  Almighty 
Being,  who  had  made  this  young  man  so  lovely  and 
given  him  so  much  to  love,  to  remove  him  by  a  swift 
disease  from  all  that  he  held  dear,  from  all  who  held 
him  dear.  His  manly  form  lies  low  in  the  dust.  His 
beauty  is  withered  like  the  flowers  which,  from  many 
hands,  were  scattered  profusely  over  his  bier.  And 
now  what  remains  for  the  afflicted  ones  he  has  left  be- 
hind ?  For  the  widow  in  her  speechless,  tearless  grief? 
For  the  mother,  who  goes  mourning  all  the  day  long 
and  waters  her  couch  with  her  tears?  Shall  no  light 
rise  upon  their  darkness?  Nay,  rather  in  the  recol- 
lection with  which  their  memory  is  stored,  of  the 
Christian  graces  of  his  childhood,  youth,  and  manhood, 
in  the  testimony  which  comes  to  them  from  so  many 
quarters,  even  from  the  companions  of  his  gayest  hours, 
from  young  and  old,  from  man  and  woman,  from  high 
and  low,  of  his  generosity,  his  disinterestedness,  his 
purity  of  thought,  and  word,  and  deed ;  shall  they  not 
hear  the  whisper  of  'the  voice  from  heaven,'  saying, 
'Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord,'  and  shall 
not  his  father  feel  in  a  sense,  highest,  holiest,  and  most 
blessed  of  all,  that  '  he  shall  not  want  a  man  to  stand 
before  God  forever !'  " 

We  placed  him  by  the  side  of  our  mother,  among 
her  children.  On  the  simple  slab  of  Italian  marble 
that  mai'ks  the  spot  are  his  name  and  age — twenty-five 
years — and  the  words  : 

"  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see 
God." 


190     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 
CHAPTEE  XVI. 

SLAVES  AND   WAR-TIMES. 

r 

On  the  day  after  our  mother's  death  one  of  the 
daughters' went  to  the  kitchen  to  attend  to  the  house- 
keeping. She  found  the  cook  in  a  flood  of  tears.  "  I 
have  lost  the  best  friend  that  I  had,"  she  said.  She 
spoke  the  truth,  for  few  besides  the  mistress  who  was 
gone  could  have  had  patience  with  Alcey.  She  was 
the  cook  who  had  been  bought  from  Mr.  Dabney's 
mother's  estate,  and  had  been  treated  with  marked 
kindness  on  account  of  her  being  a  stranger;  but  she 
seemed  to  be  vicious  and  heartless,  and  nothing  but  the 
untiring  forbearance  and  kindness  of  this  mistress  had 
touched  the  hardened  natui'e. 

When  one  hires  servants  and.  they  do  not  give  some 
sort  of  satisfaction,  redress  is  at  hand.  The  servant 
is  dismissed.  But  with  slaves,  at  Burleigh,  and  with 
all  the  good  masters  and  mistresses  in  the  South, — and 
I  have  known  very  few  who  were  not  good, — there  was 
no  redress. 

It  may  be  thought  that  Southerners  could  punish 
their  servants,  and  so  have  everything  go  on  just  as 
they  pleased.  But  he  who  says  this  knows  little  of 
human  nature.  "I  cannot  punish  people  with  whom 
I  associate  every  day,"  Thomas  Dabney  said,  and  he 
expressed  the  sentiment  of  thousands  of  other  slave- 
owners. It  was  true  that  discipline  had  sometimes  to 
be  used,  but  not  often,  in  very  many  instances  only  once 
in  a  lifetime,  and  in  many  more,  never.  George  Page, 
who  in  his  youth,  and  in  his  middle  age,  was  about  his 
master's  person  and  knew  him  well,  said,  "  Master  is  a 
heap  more  strict  with  his  children  than  he  is  with  his 
servants.  He  does  not  overlook  things  in  his  children 
like  he  does  in  his  people." 

Apart  from  the  humane  point  of  view,  common  sense, 
joined  with  that  great  instructor,  responsibility,  taught 


SLAVES  AND    WAR-TIMES.  191 

slave-owners  that  very  little  can  be  effected  by  fear  of 
punishment. 

Fear  and  punishment  only  tend  to  harden  the  rebel- 
lious heart.  What,  then,  was  to  be  done  with  a  grown 
servant  who  was  too  lazy  or  too  ill-tempered  to  do  half 
work,  with  abundant  and  comfortable  support  insured 
whether  the  work  was  done  or  not  ?  It  is  clear  that 
unless  the  moral  nature  could  be  appealed  to,  that  ser- 
vant had  to  be  endured.  It  would  not  have  answered 
to  set  that  one  free ;  that  would  have  made  dissatisfac- 
tion among  the  others.  Yery  many  slave-owners  looked  A 
on  slavery  as  an  incubus,  and  longed  to  be  rid  of  it,  but 
they  were  not  able  to  give  up  their  young  and  valuable 
negroes,  nor  were  they  willing  to  set  adrift  the  aged 
and  helpless.  To  have  provided  for  this  class,  without 
any  compensation  for  the  loss  of  the  other,  would  have 
reduced  tbem  to  penury. 

Now  that  the  institution  is  swept  away,  I  venture  to 
express  the  conviction  that  there  is  not  an  intelligent 
white  man  or  woman  in  the  South  who  would  have  it  re- 
called, if  a  wish  could  do  it.  Those  who  suffered  and  lost 
most — those  who  were  reduced  from  a  life  of  affluence  to 
one  of  grinding  poverty — are  content  to  pay  the  price. 

Good  masters  saw  the  evil  that  bad  masters  could  do. 
It  is  true,  a  bad  master  was  universally  execrated,  and 
no  vocation  was  held  so  debasing  as  the  negro  trader's. 
Every  conscientious  proprietor  felt  that  these  were  \y 
helpless  creatures,  whose  life  and  limb  were,  in  a  eeruain 
sense,  under  his  control.  There  were  others  who  felt  _^ 
that  slavery  was  a  yoke  upon  the  white  man's  neck 
almost  as  galling  as  on  the  slaves ;  and  it  was  a  saying 
that  the  mistress  of  a  plantationjwas  the  most  complete 
6]aj^onjtT~T  can  testify  to~~tEe~ti*uth  of  this  in  my 
mother's  life  and  experience.  There  was  no  hour  of 
the  day  that  she  was  not  called  upon  to  minister  to 
their  real  or  imaginary  wants.  Who  can  wonder  that 
we  longed  for  a  lifting  of  the  incubus,  and  that  in  the 
family  of  Thomas  Dabney  the  first  feeling,  when  the 
war  ended,  was  of  joy  that  one  dreadful  responsibility, 
at  least,  was  removed?  Gradual  emancipation  had 
been  a  hope  and  a  dream  not  to  be  realized. 


192     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

It  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  give  an  illustration  of 
how  one  of  the  Burleigh  servants  carried  her  point  over 
the  heads  of  the  white  family. 

After  the  mistress  had  passed  away,  A\oey  resolved 
that  she  would  not  cook  any  more,  and  she  took  her 
own  way  of  getting  assigned  to  field  work.  She  sys- 
tematically disobeyed  orders  and  stole  or  destroyed  the 
greater  part  of  the  provisions  given  to  her  for  the  table. 
No  special  notice  was  taken,  so  she  resolved  to  show 
more  plainly  that  she  was  tired  of  the  kitchen.  In- 
stead of  getting  the  chickens  for  dinner  from  the  coop, 
as  usual,  she  unearthed  from  some  corner  an  old  hen 
that  had  been  sitting  for  six  weeks,  and  served  her  up 
as  a  fricassee!  We  had  company  to  dinner  that  day; 
that  would  have  deterred  most  of  the  servants,  but  not 
Alcey.  She  achieved  her  object,  for  she  was  sent  to 
the  field  the  next  day,  without  so  much  as  a  reprimand, 
if  I  remember  rightly.  We  were  very  sorry,  for  she 
was  the  most  accomplished  cook  whom  we  had  had  in 
Mississippi.  But  what  was  to  be  done?  No  master 
could  have  made  her  cook  unless  by  making  a  brute 
of  himself,  and  using  such  measures  as  would  lower 
him  in  his  own  eyes.  Her  master  merely  said,  "  Choose 
any  one  whom  you  like  as  your  cook,  and  let  Alcey  go 
out  to  the  field." 

Those  were  days  of  trial  and  perplexity  to  the  young 
mistresses.  The  old  house-servants,  though  having  at 
heart  an  affection  for  them,  considered  or  pretended  to 
consider  them  too  young  to  know  what  they  wanted. 

Besides,  had  they  not  known  these  young  ladies  ever 
since  they  were  born?  And  did  not  they  call  them 
mammy  or  aunt  in  consideration  of  superior  age? 

If  complaint  were  made  to  the  master,  his  answer 
was,  "  If  you  cannot  get  along  with  the  servants,  and 
they  will  not  recognize  your  authority,  choose  any 
others  that  you  think  will  do  better."  Several  had  to 
be  sent  to  the  fields  before  some  of  the  old  trained  ser- 
vants, who  had  never  worked  out  of  the  "great  house" 
in  their  lives,  saw  that  there  was  to  be  a  head  to  the 
house,  even  though  that  head  was  set  on  young  shoul- 
ders. 


SLAVES  AND    WAR-TIMES.  193 

In  this  time  of  change  and  discouragement  Mammy- 
Maria's  strong,  true  love  for  the  house  showed  itself, 
and  was  indeed  a  help  and  support.  She  had  never  in 
her  life  received  what  could  be  called  an  order  from 
any  younger  member  of  the  family.  To  her  everything 
was  put  in  the  form  of  a  request.  She  was  too  much 
beloved  for  any  one  of  her  "  white  children"  to  wish  to 
alter  this  relationship  now.  But  mammy  decided  her- 
self on  changing  her  manner  to  us.  Instead  of  her 
independent  way  of  letting  us  know  her  views,  and 
expecting  us  to  follow  her  advice,  she  addressed  her 
young  mistresses  in  a  manner  marked  by  the  most 
studied  deference.  The  slightest  expressed  wish,  though 
couched  as  ever  in  the  form  of  a  request,  was  a  com- 
mand to  mammy,  and  was  obe}red  with  more  punctil- 
ious exactness  than  if  it  had  come  from  the  father  or 
mother.  She  and  they  had  been  bons  camarades  many 
a  year  together,  and  understood  each  other, — there  was 
no  need  to  obey  strictly,  or  to  obey  at  all,  if  she  saw  a 
better  way.  But  here  was  a  different  state  of  things, 
— here  was  upheaval  and  rebellion.  The  servants 
hardly  meant  it  so ;  most  of  it  was  thoughtlessness  on 
their  part,  but  the  result  was  discomfort  and  perplexity 
to  mammy's  "  white  children."  Her  loyal  heart  showed 
her  this  way  of  giving  comfort  to  us. 

After  the  war  actually  began,  Thomas  Dabney  es- 
poused the  side  of  the  South  with  all  the  enthusiasm 
of  his  nature.  As  has  been  said,  he  did  nothing  by 
halves.  He  at  once  organized  his  household  on  a  more 
economical  footing  that  he  might  have  the  more  to  aid 
in  carrying  on  the  war.  He  said  that  we  at  home 
ought  not  to  live  more  luxuriously  than  our  soldiers  in 
camp,  and  he  himself  set  the  example  of  giving  up 
many  luxuries  which  were  yet  abundant  in  the  land. 
It  was  considered  unpatriotic  to  plant  cotton,  and  he 
ui*ged  his  neighbors  to  turn  all  their  energies  towards 
sustaining  the  Southern  soldiers.  They  planted  half 
crops  of  cotton  ;  but  not  a  cotton-seed  was  allowed  to 
be  put  in  the  ground  on  the  Burleigh  plantation. 
Every  acre  was  planted  in  corn,  that  the  army  should 
not  lack  food  for  man  and  beast.  He  gave  his  money 
i        n  17 


194     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

with  both  hands,  and  his  sons  as  freely.  He  was  most 
restive  at  not  being  in  the  army  himself.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  enlisting  many  times,  and  did  enlist  once, 
when  special  troops  were  called  for  to  go  to  Columbus, 
Kentucky,  where  heavy  fighting  was  expected. 

His  daughters  were  in  despair  at  seeing  him  at  the 
age  of  sixty-two  preparing  to  go  into  the  trenches. 
No  argument  on  the  subject  of  his  age  could  move  him 
when  this  uncontrollable  longing  to  go  into  the  army 
got  possession  of  him,  as  it  did  from  time  to  time.  JHis 
daughters  came  around  him  and  reminded  him  that  all 
their  brothers  who  were  old  enough  to  handle  a  musket 
were  at  the  front,  and  he  ought  not  to  run  the  risk  of 
leaving  them  without  a  natural  protector.  Perhaps 
the  strongest  argument  used  was  that  he  could  best 
serve  his  country  by  remaining  at  home  and  giving  his 
personal  supervision  to  the  fields  which  were  to  feed 
the  armies.  He  finally  yielded  to  their  wishes  and 
stayed  at  home. 

His  fourteen-year-old  son,  Benjamin,  caught  the  war 
fever,  and  his  father  gave  his  consent  for  him  to  go  into 
the  ranks.  He  sent  a  trusted  body-servant  with  his 
sons. 

"  William,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  you  to  stand  by  your 
young  masters,  and  to  look  after  them  as  well  as  you 
can.  And  if  they  are  killed,  I  want  you  to  bring  them 
home  to  me." 

"  Yes,  marster." 

"  And  here  is  my  sword,  William.  I  give  it  to  you 
to  take  to  the  war.  You  can  fight  with  it,  too,  if  you 
see  a  chance." 

"Yes,  marster,  I  will  show  them  the  English  of  it." 

And  William,  who  was  about  six  feet  two  inches  in 
height,  threw  his  head  back  and  looked  proud  of  the 
trust. 

William  was  armed  with  the  master's  own  sword, 
which  he  had  had  sharpened  before  handing  it  to  him. 
It  had  been  his  when,  at  the  age  of  fourteen  years,  he 
had  gone  to  Old  Point  Comfort,  where  the  British  were 
expected  to  land.  The  edge  had  been  ground  off  when 
peace  was  declared  after  the  war  of  1812,  and  it  had 


SLAVES  AND    WAR-TIMES.  195 

not  been  sharpened  till  the  Confederate  war  broke 
out. 

Thomas  wrote  much  for  the  papers  in  these  days, 
urging  every  Southerner  to  take  care  of  the  soldiers  in 
the  field.  Five  young  men,  who  were  guests  at  Bur- 
leigh in  the  first  spring  of  the  war,  were  fitted  out  by 
him  and  sent  off  with  one  hundred  dollars  apiece,  and 
directions  to  have  their  bills  charged  to  him.  Gray 
cloth  was  ordered  up  from  New  Orleans,  and  uniforms 
cut  -out  and  made  by  the  dozen  in  the  house  and  sent 
to  the  camps.  Blankets  were  not  to  be  bought  in  any 
Southern  mai'ket,  and  he  decided  to  give  every  one 
that  he  owned,  but  his  daughters  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  keep  some,  and  he  compromised  on  giving  away 
nineteen  of  the  largest  size,  about  half.  He  wished 
us  to  cut  up  the  carpets  to  put  on  the  beds.  Great 
boxes  of  food  and  wine  were  sent  off  to  the  hospitals. 
He  sent  his  carriage  for  sick  soldiers,  and  took  care  of 
them  as  long  as  they  were  allowed  to  stay,  treating 
each  private  as  if  he  were  the  commander-in-chief  of 
the  army. 

He  greatly  enjoyed  a  dinner  that  he  gave  to  General 
John  C.  Breckenridge  and  a  brilliant  party  of  officers 
and  friends  in  September  of  1862.  It  was  the  last  en- 
tertainment given  at  Burleigh  before  the  tide  of  war 
swept  over  it.  There  were  about  eighteen  guests, 
among  them  some  friends  from  New  Orleans, — Mr. 
Needier  Jennings,  Mr.  George  W.  "Ward,  and  Mr.  Vio- 
let, Andrew  Jackson  Polk,  of  Tennessee,  and  the  Hon. 
Senator  Gwynn,  of  California.  Two  of  our  own  soldier 
boys  were  there  on  furlough,  Edward  Dabney  and 
Augustine  Dabney's  son,  Thomas  Gregory  Dabney. 

Everybody  was  full  of  hope.  None  then  realized  the 
true  state  of  things,  that  Vicksburg  would  fall  and  all 
our  part  of  the  country  be  overrun.  Vicksburg  had 
stood  two  sieges,  and  we  thought  that  little  city  impreg- 
nable, and  the  gay  company  assured  the  ladies  that 
they  should  be  defended,  and  should  never  see  the  war 
more  near-by. 

General  Breckenridge  had  been  called  the  handsomest 
man  in  the  United  States  when  he  was  a  candidate  for 


196     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

the  Yice-Presidency  a  few  years  before.  It  would  be 
impossible  to  exaggerate  the  beauty  of  bis  person  or 
the  grace  and  courtesy  of  his  bearing.  His  face  was 
one  of  classic  beauty,  and  his  figure  worthy  in  its  pro- 
portions to  bear  the  massive  head,  so  superbly  set  upon 
the  shoulders ;  but  to  see  him  mounted  on  his  war- 
horse,  riding  as  if  he  and  the  charger  were  one,  the 
long  black  plumes  of  his  hat  nodding  with  every  move- 
ment, his  eye  fired  with  enthusiasm,  this  was  the  most 
impressive  picture  that  had  met  our  eyes.  As  we  stood 
on  the  porch  the  next  morning  watching  the  receding 
cavalcade,  they  waved  their  hats  and  saluted  till  the 
bend  in  the  road  shut  them  from  our  view. 

The  Burleigh  family  had  cause  to  remember  the 
second  siege  of  Vicksburg.  One  of  the  daughters, 
Sophy,  lay  halting  between  life  and  death.  Her  physi- 
cian informed  the  family  that  any  excitement  would 
probably  be  fatal,  and  on  no  account  must  tbe  impend- 
ing siege  of  Vicksburg  be  alluded  to  in  the  sick-room. 
We  had  heard  every  gun  of  the  first  siege,  and  this 
one  was  expected  to  begin  every  hour. 

Presently  a  dull,  booming  sound  was  heard;  it  an- 
nounced that  the  siege  had  opened.  The  watchers 
hoped  that  the  patient  slept.  A  moment  more  and  an- 
other and  another  gun  broke  the  stillness. 

"What  is  that?"  she  asked. 

"Isn't  it  thunder?"  somebod}r  suggested. 

"  Thunder  does  not  sound  at  regular  intervals.  The 
siege  of  Vicksburg  has  begun." 

But  it  did  not  excite  her,  as  we  had  feared  it  would, 
and  though  every  shot  seemed  to  go  through  the  loud- 
beating  hearts  of  the  father  and  sisters  during  those 
long  days  of  suspense,  she  did  not  seem  to  attend,  and 
got  well  as  fast  as  if  there  had  been  no  siege  of  Vicks- 
burg. 

The  plantation  life  went  on  as  usual.  The  servants 
went  about  their  duties,  we  thought,  more  conscien- 
tiously than  before.  They  seemed  to  do  better  when 
there  was  trouble  in  the  white  family,  and  they  knew 
that  there  was  trouble  enough  when  all  the  young  men 
in  the  family  were  off  at  the  wars.     They  sewed  on  the 


SLAVES  AND    WAR-TIMES.  197 

soldiers'  clothes  and  knit  socks  for  the  army,  and  packed 
the  boxes  with  as  much  alacrity  as  the  white  people 
did.     They  were  our  greatest  comfort  during  the  war. 

When  hostilities  began,  the  younger  children  were 
taught  by  a  tutor  who  had  been  in  the  family  for  sev-  \ 
eral  years.  Mr.  Dabney  had  not  thought  of  sending 
him  away,  though  he  was  a  Northern  man,  and,  it  was 
to  be  supposed,  with  Northern  sympathies.  He  was 
so  quiet  that  we  at  Burleigh  rarely  thought  of  his 
sympathies,  for  he  never  seemed  to  speak  if  he  could 
avoid  it.  But  the  neighbors  had  a  report  that  he  was 
a  spy,  and  Mr.  Dabney  was  informed  of  it,  with  a  re- 
quest that  Mr.  T should  be  dismissed.     This  was 

communicated  to  the  tutor  in  the  kindest  manner,  and 
the  man  was  moved  to  tears  as  Thomas  talked  with 
him. 

Thomas  Dabney  originated  the  scheme  for  the  Con- 
federate government  to  raise  money  by  getting  out  |// 
bonds  on  the  basis  of  the  cotton  then  in  the  hands  of 
the  planters.     The  cotton  bonds  supplied  the  sinews  of 
war  during  the  early  part  of  the  struggle. 

At  a  trial  of  strength  between  himself  and  five  young 
men  who  were  guests  in  his  house  for  a  month  or  two 
before  they  went  off  to  the  war,  he  held  out  at  arm's 
length  a  weight  that  was  too  heavy  for  them  to  hold 
out. 

One  day  after  his  beloved  wife  had  been  dead  about 
a  year,  Thomas  was  lying  on  his  bed  in  his  chamber, 
one  of  his  daughters  and  a  niece  sitting  by  him.  He 
began  to  sing  the  song  that  had  so  often  been  begged 
for  in  vain  by  their  children, — the  song  that  had  won 
their  mother's  heart. 

He  sang  it  from  beginning  to  end.  As  he  came  to 
the  last  line,  he  struck  with  his  clinched  fist  upon  his 
breast, — 

"Do  they  think  that  I  can  forget  you!  Do  they 
think  that  I  can  forget  you !"  he  cried. 

Some  one,  little  knowing  the  man,  had  spoken  to 
him  jestingly  of  marrying  again  in  this  early  stage  of 
his  grief. 

The  Episcopal  Church  of  St.  Mark's,  at  Eaymond, 
17* 


198     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

had  been  built  years  before  the  war,  and  bad  been  the 
parish  church  of  Thomas  and  his  family.  Tbe  drive 
of  ten  miles  did  not  seem  inconvenient  tben.  But  it 
became  impossible  to  get  so  far  afterwards.  Tbe  fam- 
ily fell  into  a  way  of  reading  the  service  at  borne,  and 
tbe  neighbors  liked  to  attend,  and  tbe  large  bousebold 
was  frequently  swelled  to  quite  a  congregation.  Occa- 
sionally the  bishop  or  one  of  the  clergy  were  tbere, 
and  were  surprised  to  see  tbe  number  tbat  could  be 
gatbered  together,  almost  without  giving  out  any  no- 
tice. In  the  afternoon  the  daughters  held  a  service 
and  Sunday-school  for  the  negroes,  and  the  large  library 
was  well  filled  by  them.  They  delighted  in  the  chants 
and  hymns,  and  knew  much  of  the  service  and  the 
catechism  by  heart. 

Many  years  after  they  were  free,  a  brawny  black- 
smith sent  a  message  to  his  teachers  of  these  days, 
"  Tell  de  ladies  I  ain't  forgit  what  dey  teach  me  in  de 
Sunday-school." 

Thomas  never  allowed  anything  to  interfere  with  his 
attending  the  services.  Oftentimes  friends  came  in,  or 
other  things  happened  that  made  it  an  effort  to  break 
off.  But  when  the  hour  came,  he  would  say,  quietly, 
"  We  always  have  the  service  at  eleven  o'clock  on  Sun- 
daj'S,"  and  the  guests  were  invited  to  join  him.  It  was 
a  surprise  to  many  who  knew  him  only  as  a  charming 
companion,  always  ready  for  any  sort  of  amusement 
that  was  not  really  wicked.  Some  persons  who  had 
not  been  in  a  church  for  years  felt  constrained  to  go  in 
to  these  services.  The  quiet  dignity  of  the  head  of  the 
house  made  it  difficult  to  approach  him  with  a  light 
excuse. 

He  did  not  himself  lead  the  daily  family  prayers  in 
his  house,  or  conduct  the  church  services  on  Sundays. 
His  deep  humility  made  him  feel  unworthy  to  take  this 
part. 

He  loved  to  hear  his  daughters  read  the  service  and 
the  prayers.  If  for  any  reason  they  were  omitted,  he 
would  ask  for  them.  When  he  was  sick,  we  always 
had  the  services  around  his  bed.  He  was  not  one  to 
express  his  religious  feelings,  but  no  one  felt  more  deeply 


SLAVES  AND    WAR-TIMES.  199 

or  reverently.  His  faith  was  that  of  a  little  child,  with- 
out a  doubt,  or  shadow  of  one.  He  did  not  seem  even  to 
know  what  was  meant  by  religious  doubts.  I  do  not 
believe  that  in  the  course  of  his  life  he  ever  questioned 
the  truth  of  revealed  religion  for  five  consecutive  min- 
utes. The  subject  did  not  interest  him,  and  he  never 
took  part  in  any  conversation  bearing  on  it. 

And  yet  he  was  not  a  communicant,  and  he  was 
passing  thi'ough  life  with  that  error  fixed  in  his  mind, 
that  one  must  feel  worthy  before  one  can  without 
hypocrisy  become  a  communicant.  It  was  a  happi- 
ness to  him  to  see  his  children  go  up  to  be  confirmed 
as  they  grew  up.  In  his  humility,  he  thought  them 
better  than  himself. 

One  Sunday  only  himself  and  a  daughter  were  left 
in  the  house  ;  everybody  else  was  away.  She  had  not 
thought  of  going  through  with  the  services  under  the 
circumstances.     But  her  father  asked, — 

"Will  you  not  have  the  services,  my  child?" 

"  I  had  not  meant  to  do  it.  I  thought  that  we  could 
read  to  ourselves." 

"  I  want  you  to  read  the  services,  my  dear,"  he  said, 
in  his  humble,  gentle  way  that  always  came  when  he 
spoke  of  these  things.  So  they  two  went  through  the 
full  service  together. 

When  they  were  not  far  from  the  end,  there  came  a 
knock  at  the  door;  a  neighbor  had  come  to  spend  the 
day.  His  daughter  thought  that  Thomas  would  not 
ask  her  to  go  on,  as  the  visitor  was  one  who  was  not  a 
religious  man.     But- he  said  at  once, — 

"  My  daughter  and  I  are  having  prayers." 

And  the  visitor  joined  in  with  a  very  earnest  face. 
He  had  not  before  seen  this  side  of  my  father's  char- 
acter. 

In  the  spring  of  1863  Thomas  Dabney  began  to  feel 
that  his  children  were  in  one  of  the  worst  places  in  the 
world  for  non-combatants,  the  neighborhood  of  a  be- 
leaguered city.  He  lamented  that  all  his  children  were 
not  sons.  He  longed  more  and  more  to  go  into  the 
army  as  the  fighting  drew  closer  to  us.  He  ordered  an 
army  uniform  to  be  made  for  himself,  and  we  feared 


200     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

that  we  should  not  be  able  to  keep  him  with  us.  His 
intense  sufferings  from  loneliness  urged  him,  no  less  than 
his  love  for  the  military  life,  to  plunge  into  the  excite- 
ment now  so  near  at  hand.  In  his  grief  he  said  not 
infrequently  in  these  days  that  it  would  have  been 
better  for  him  if  he  had  had  no  children  left  him  to 
take  care  of.  All  the  men  in  the  land  who  were  men 
indeed  were  off  in  the  army ;  the  whole  country  seemed 
forsaken,  except  by  the  old  men  and  the  boys  and  the 
women  and  children.  He  envied  every  soldier  in  the 
ranks,  and  felt  like  a  chained  lion.  Not  to  go  into  the 
army  cost  him,  without  a  doubt,  the  greatest  struggle 
of  his  life. 

The  rumor  came  that  the  whole  country  around 
Yicksburg  was  to  be  abandoned  to  the  enemy.  Already 
General  Grant's  troops  were  moving  on  Yicksburg,  and 
that  place  would  soon  be  in  a  state  of  siege.  The  citi- 
zens were  fleeing  in  every  direction.  Thomas  Dabney, 
feeling  that  he  had  a  home  and  food  to  offer  to  these 
homeless  ones,  caused  to  be  inserted  in  one  of  the 
Yicksburg  papers  an  invitation  to  any  and  all  citizens 
desirous  of  leaving  the  city  to  take  refuge  at  Burleigh. 

One  family  of  Louisiana  refugees  had  come  to  us 
before  this.  This  invitation  brought  out  an  English- 
woman, Mrs.  Allen,  and  her  two  children,  and  later  on 
her  husband. 

At  this  juncture  our  hopes  were  raised  by  the  arrival 
of  an  officer,  sent  out  by  General  Pemberton,  with 
orders  to  seize  every  pleasure  horse  in  the  country.  A 
large  body  of  men  were  to  be  mounted,  we  were  told, 
and  this  body  of  cavalry  was  to  patrol  the  country  lying 
around  Yicksburg  ;  and  even  to  relieve  that  place  when 
the  time  came.  The  officer  was  astonished  when  he 
was  hailed  as  the  bringer  of  joyful  tidings.  Many 
ladies,  he  said,  had  shed  tears  when  their  carriage  and 
other  favorite  horses  had  been  carried  off  by  him.  He 
had  gotten  nervous,  and  hated  to  come  among  the 
women  of  the  country  with  that  dreadful  order  in  his 
hand.  Every  horse  in  the  Burleigh  stables  was  brought 
out  freely.  One  riding  horse  was  exempted  from  the 
draft  as  a  necessary  part  of  the  plantation  equipment. 


SLAVES  AND    WAR-TIMES.  201 

My  father  preferred  to  retain  his  buggy  horse,  Gold 
Dust,  and  he  was  allowed  to  do  so. 

Alas !  in  a  few  weeks  G-old  Dust  was  to  be  in  the 
service  of  the  enemy  and  pitted  against  his  own  mas- 
ter's son,  and  against  the  Burleigh  carriage  horses  and 
other  equine  acquaintances  of  the  stables  and  pastures. 
"When  last  seen  our  carnage  horses,  powerful  young 
roans,  were  on  the  battle-field  of  Big  Black  in  the  ar- 
tillery service. 

We  now  set  to  work  to  bury  the  money  and  silver.  /, 
Some  of  our  friends  had  buried  their  watches,  and  so 
destined  them.  "We  sewed  up  our  watches  and  such 
valuables  as  would  be  spoiled  by  dampness  in  the  form 
of  a  bustle,  and  gave  it  to  our  trusted  Aunt  Abby  to 
wear.  Mammy  Maria  was  too  nervous  and  cried  too 
much  to  have  any  responsibility  put  on  her.  Large 
hoops  were  in  fashion  at  this  time,  and  we  tied  our  sil- 
ver in  bags  and  put  these  under  our  hoops,  and  went 
out  one  May  day  a  mile  from  the  house  to  a  rock-quarry. 
Here  we  dug  a  hole  with  the  dinner-knives  that  Ave  had 
secreted  about  our  persons  for  the  purpose,  and  in  this 
hole  we  placed  our  valuables.  Then  we  put  over  them 
the  largest  stone  that  six  or  seven  girls  could  move. 

As  we  were  not  in  the  habit  of  walking  out  in  the 
hot  sun,  some  one  proposed  that  we  should  dig  up  a 
young  holly,  or  something  of  the  kind,  and  set  it  out 
on  our  return  to  the  house.  This  would  account,  it 
was  thought,  to  the  servants  for  our  walk.  So  we 
pulled  up  a  shrub  or  two  and  set  them  out  as  soon  as 
we  got  home. 

Mammy  Maria  watched  these  proceedings  in  silence, 
and  then  said  in  her  brusque  way,  and  in  her  capacity 
of  a  privileged  servant,  "  You  needn't  think  you  is 
foolin'  me.  I  know  you  don't  go  out  in  de  hot  sun  in 
May  to  set  out  trees  an'  'spect  'em  to  live." 

The  children  buried  their  treasures  too.  Tom,  a 
powder-can,  as  the  most  prized  of  his  possessions.  It 
was  of  a  brilliant  red,  and  a  late  acquisition,  and  might 
be  coveted  by  the  enemy.  Little  Lelia  buried  her  dolls 
and  their  wai'drobes  securely  in  a  hole  dug  in  the  green- 
house.    Lelia's  nurse,  who  helped  at  the  frequent  ex- 


202     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

humings  and  re-interments,  as  rumors  of  the  war  were 
cheering  or  alarming, — for  we  had  a  fresh  rumor  nearly 
every  day, — was  true  to  her,  but  Tom  was  less  fortunate 
in  his  confidant,  and  that  red  powder-can  was  near  cost- 
ing the  thirteen-year-old  boy  his  life.  Ida  buried  her 
chief  treasure,  a  pair  of  cheap  china  vases,  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  the  house,  down  the  spring  hill. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  Mrs.  Allen's  baby  died.  One 
of  the  plantation  carpenters  made  a  coffin,  and  the  Bur- 
leigh family  buried  the  little  child.  No  clergyman  was 
to  be  had.  Many  of  them  were  gone  as  chaplains  in 
the  army.  Our  pastor  led  his  company  into  the  first 
battle  of  Manassas. 

The  baby  was  buried  in  the  park  under  a  small  oak- 
tree.  The  deer,  seeing  the  procession  of  the  family  and 
the  coffin  borne  by  the  negro  men  come  in,  with  the 
curiosity  of  their  species  drew  near.  The  gentler  ones 
mingled  with  the  group  around  the  open  grave,  one 
special  pet  licking  the  hands  of  her  human  friends  and 
stretching  out  her  beautiful  neck  to  reach  the  flowers 
that  the  young  children  had  brought  to  strew  on  the 
little  coffin. 

The  rude  coffin  and  the  absence  of  the  minister,  and 
of  any  white  man  save  one  silvery-haired  one,  spoke 
of  war.  But  it  was  a  beautiful  and  peaceful  scene. 
The  setting  sun  threw  its  slanting  rays  on  the  deer  as 
they  stood  in  the  background  near  the  forest-trees,  and 
on  the  little  group  gathered  close  to  the  grave. 

A  woman's  voice  was  repeating  the  solemn  ritual  of 
the  Episcopal  Church  for  the  burial  of  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A   WEEK   WITHIN   THE   LINES. 

The  next  rumor  that  came  was  that  we  were  left 
within  the  enemy's  lines,  and  it  was  true.  Thomas 
Dabney  thought  it  best  to  stay  quietly  at  home  and 


A    WEEK   WITHIN  THE  LINES.  203 

take  the  best  care  that  he  could  of  his  family,  both 
white  and  black.  But  his  daughters  became  nervous 
and  alarmed  about  his  personal  safety  under  such  cir- 
cumstances. He  had  been  conspicuous  in  helping  the 
Southern  cause  in  every  way  in  his  power,  by  money 
and  hospitality,  and  through  the  public  journals  of  the 
State.  We  had  heard  of  rough  treatment  of  aged  men 
found  in  their  homes  by  the  Northern  soldiery.  We 
heard  later  of  the  murder  of  two  unarmed  old  gentle- 
men, Mr.  Sam  Smith,  of  Mathews  County,  Virginia, 
and  Mr.  Hyde,  of  Louisiana.  Mr.  Sam  Smith  was 
hanged  near  his  place,  and  Mr.  Hyde  was  burned  up  in 
his  own  house. 

We  made  up  our  minds  that  our  father  should  not 
risk  his  life  if  we  could  prevent  it.  The  Federal  troops 
might  now  be  looked  for  at  any  hour.  We  wept  and 
entreated  him  to  leave  us,  and  finally  told  him  that  if 
he  did  not  we  should  go  out  of  the  house  ourselves  and 
seek  a  place  of  safety,  knowing  well  that  he  would  not 
allow  us  to  go  unattended  by  himself.  We  represented 
to  him  that  we  should  be  far  safer  without  him,  and 
cited  to  him  many  instances  where  the  Northern  troops 
had  been  kind  to  the  women  who  had  no  men  to  pro- 
tect them,  and  very  rough  with  those  who  had  one  of 
their  own  sex  in  the  house.  We  entreated  him  by 
day  and  by  night  until  he  could  no  longer  resist  our 
tears  and  prayers.  With  a  heavy  heart  he  bade  us 
good-by. 

The  neighbors  were  carrying  their  servants  to  the 
east  side  of  Pearl  River,  within  the  Confederate  lines. 
We  urged  him  to  take  a  part  of  his  there.  He  was 
opposed  to  this,  and  justly  so.  It  would  show  a  lack 
of  trust  in  them,  he  said.  Besides,  it  would  be  too  great; 
a  strain  of  their  obedience  to  him  if  he  ordered  his 
able-bodied  men  and  women  to  leave  their  families  be- 
hind and  follow  him.  But  he  yielded  his  own  judgment 
in  this  case  also. 

Most  reluctantly  he  called  for  his  young  men  and 
women,  and  told  them  that  they  must  prepare  to  go 
with  him  twenty-seven  miles  into  the  Pearl  River 
swamp.     They  obeyed  cheerfully,  and  he  kept  them 


204     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

there  against  their  inclination  and  against  his,  under 
uncomfortable  conditions,  for  a  week. 

Meanwhile,  at  Burleigh  we  breathed  freely  when  we 
saw  our  dear  father  ride  off.  The  overseer  was  an 
easy-going  man,  who  had  not,  like  him,  helped  to  carry 
on  the  war,  and  he  expected  to  pass  unnoticed  as  an 
obscure  person  and  a  non-combatant.  He  was  to  have 
control  of  things  in  the  master's  absence. 
1/  It  was  not  long  before  the  news  came  that  a  company 
of  eighty  Federals,  from  General  Grant's  army,  had 
reached  the  plantation,  and  had  encamped  in  a  field  on 
the  Tallahala  Creek,  only  a  half-mile  from  the  house. 
They  were  near  enough  for  us  to  hear  the  reveille  in 
the  morning  and  the  tattoo  at  night. 

"Very  soon  some  of  them  rode  up,  by  twos  and  threes, 
and  came  into  the  house.  At  first  they  were  civil,  but 
each  day  they  grew  more  and  more  rough,  and  finally 
they  became  violent.  They  went  into  every  room 
from  the  garret  to  the  cellar,  and  through  every  closet, 
wardrobe,  bureau,  and  trunk,  and  carried  off  every- 
thing that  struck  their  fancy.  They  found  several 
hundred  dollars  in  the  iron  safe,  and  thought  it  a 
fortune.  They  looked  like  the  dregs  of  some  city. 
We  have  thought  they  must  have  been  the  camp- 
followers  of  General  Grant's  army,  and  not  his  regu- 
larly enlisted  men.  They  were  scarcely  in  uniform; 
perhaps  a  blue  jacket  on  one  and  trousers  on  another, 
the  rest  of  the  garb  being  of  any  hue  or  cut  other 
than  a  military  one. 

When  keys  were  not  produced  at  once,  they  forced 
the  locks.  Lelia's  doll-trunk,  only  a  few  inches  long, 
caught  the  eye  of  one  of  them. 

"  Do  not  break  the  child's  doll-trunk.  It  has  nothing 
in  it  but  doll-clothes,"  one  of  her  sisters  said,  when  the 
key  could  not  be  found. 

"  It  is  big  enough  to  hold  a  pistol,"  he  said,  as  he 
burst  the  top  of  the  toy  off. 

A  broken -open  desk  revealed  the  love-letters  of  one 
of  the  girls,  and  the  perusal  of  these  seemed  amusing 
work. 

They  found  the  wine-cellar,  and  drank  until  they 


A   WEEK  WITHIN  THE  LINESW.  207 

were  intoxicated.  Then  they  called  to  the  negiv  were 
come  up  into  the  porch  to  join  them,  as  they  stru 
the  necks  off  the  bottles  of  wine.  The  negroes  stood 
around  the  porch,  but  only  one  accepted  the  invitation. 
The  others  looked  on  silently  while  a  loud-voiced 
drunken  fellow,  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader,  an- 
nounced that  he  had  come  to  hang  the  old  gray-haired 
scoundrel  to  whom  all  this  belonged. 

"  I  will  hang  your  father  on  the  nearest  tree,  under 
your  eyes,"  he  said  to  the  daughters.  "  He  is  well 
known.  I  have  long  known  him  as  an  aider  and  abet- 
tor in  this  rebellion.  I  mean  to  get  him  yet.  I  hear 
that  he  is  coming  home  in  a  few  days."  And  then  he 
cursed  and  swore  dreadful  oaths. 

One  of  them  shook  a  whip  over  Emmy's  head  because 
she  said,  "  Sister,  do  not  be  frightened.  Only  cowards 
try  to  scare  women  and  children." 

"  You  had  better  not  exasperate  me,"  he  cried,  shak- 
ing a  whip  passionately  over  her.  He  was  drunk 
enough  to  go  any  lengths.  In  the  midst  of  all  they 
called  up  Tom  and  ordered  him  to  produce  the  large 
quantity  of  powder  that  he  had  buried.  He  denied  all 
knowledge  of  any  buried  powder,  not  recollecting  at 
the  moment  that  he  had  buried  a  powder-can.  Being 
inflamed  with  drink,  they  became  very  angry  at  his 
supposed  obstinacy  and  falsehood.  Holding  a  pistol  to 
his  head,  they  commanded  him  to  bring  the  powder 
or  his  brains  should  be  shot  out.  They  marched  the 
boy  across  the  yard  and  down  the  declivity  of  the  hill 
in  this  way.  We  expected  every  minute  to  see  the 
pistol  go  off,  whether  the  man  willed  it  or  not.  It 
came  to  Tom,  or  to  somebody,  that  the  men  must  refer 
to  the  powder-can,  and  he  took  them  to  the  spot. 
They  dug  it  up,  and  were  disgusted  to  find  it  empty. 
Our  little  black  boy,  Peter,  had  told  the  soldiers  of  this 
powder-can.     He  was  with  Tom  when  he  bui'ied  it. 

We  did  not  see  Peter  for  many  years  after  this  oc- 
currence. A  few  years  ago  an  emaciated  and  pre- 
maturely aged  negro  man  came  to  the  kitchen  door  to 
beg.  He  was  ill,  he  said,  and  starving  for  something 
good  to  eat, — would  we  give  him  some  pickle  ? 

18 


204     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

there  a^ag  our  peter.     We  could  not  see  a  trace  of  his 

un£mer  self  in  him.     He  spent  the  day  by  the  kitchen 

tire,  and  said  that  he  should  come  often  to  see  us,  but 

it  was  evident  that  his  dajTs  were  numbered,  and  we 

saw  him  no  more.     He  died  a  few  weeks  after. 

One  of  the  soldiers  said  that  Lelia  was  just  the  age 
of  his  girl,  and  asked  for  a  kiss,  much  to  her  alarm, 
for  the  children  looked  on  the  Federal  soldiers  as  little 
less  than  fiends.  She  escaped  without  the  kiss,  but 
Letty  did  not.  Letty  was  Augustine's  youngest  child, 
just  Lelia's  age,  and  they  were  the  dearest  of  friends 
and  playfellows.  One  of  the  men  on  seeing  the  three 
little  girls,  Ida,  Lelia,  and  Letty,  said  something  about 
"  putty  little  gals,"  and  asked  if  "  sissy"  would  not 
give  him  a  kiss,  puckering  up  his  mouth  with  a  smack- 
ing sound  as  he  made  the  proposal.  The  three  fled 
precipitately  behind  the  bed.  He  pursued,  and  Letty 
being  the  hindermost  of  the  little  women,  and  with  the 
face  of  a  cherub,  suffered  the  penalty  of  her  position, 
and  got  the  detested  kiss.  He  must  have  been  dis- 
couraged by  her  reception  of  it,  for  he  did  not  attempt 
to  kiss  the  other  two.  It  so  chanced  that  the  father's 
valued  sword  had  been  thrown  behind  that  bed,  with 
the  idea  of  getting  it  out  of  sight.  The  childi'en  in 
their  haste  rushed  over  it,  and  it  fell  with  a  clatter. 
But  the  men  did  not  find  it,  though  they  looked  under 
every  bed  in  their  search  through  the  house. 

"  There's  a  heap  o'  pretty  tricks  in  this  house,"  one 
of  them  remarked,  "  not  to  be  any  silver." 

They  asked  the  servants  about  the  silver,  but  none 
of  them  gave  a  satisfactory  answer.  Aunt  Abby's  girl, 
Hannah,  had  helped  to  pour  peas  over  the  plated-ware 
in  a  barrel  in  the  cellar.  She  was  alarmed  at  their 
questions,  and  told  us  that  they  said  they  were  deter- 
mined to  get  the  family  silver.  "I  tole  'em  I  thought 
you  had  sent  it  to  Georgia  or  somewhyar  a  long  time 
ago,"  she  said.  The  silver  and  plate  had  been  in  Han- 
nah's charge  for  years,  and  she  did  not  wish  to  see  it  go 
out  of  the  family.  "We  had  kept  out  a  few  forks  and 
spoons  for  use,  and  had  quite  forgotten  them,  when  all 
this  searching  was  going  on.     But  Hannah  had  them 


A    WEEK    WITHIN  THE  LINES.  207 

on  her  mind  and  took  care  to  hide  them,  and  they  were 
not  found  by  the  soldiers. 

One  day  they  announced  their  intention  of  staying 
to  dinner.  When  we  went  into  the  dining-room  not  a 
vestige  of  a  silver  spoon  or  fork  was  to  be  seen.  Han- 
nah had  found  a  set  of  steel  forks  that  had  been  stowed 
away  somewhere,  and  she  had  got  together  an  array 
of  iron  spoons, — one  was  at  each  plate,  and  a  number 
were  in  the  middle  of  the  table. 

The  sight  of  these  iron  spoons,  of  all  sizes  and  ages, 
created  a  revulsion,  and  we  did  not  dare  to  look  up  at 
Hannah  or  at  each  other  lest  we  should  laugh  out- 
right. 

Hannah  walked  around  with  such  an  air,  as  much  as 
to  say  that  she  had  not  heard  us  talk  and  read  the 
papers  for  nothing ! 

The  cook,  Maria  Reeves,  whom  my  father  had  bought 
at  her  own  request,  was  always  devoted  to  him.  "  Please, 
marster,  buy  me.  You  is  so  good  to  your  people,"  she 
had  said.  She  and  Hannah  must  have  got  that  dinner 
up  between  them.  In  our  experience  of  Maria  we 
never  knew  her  to  serve  so  wretched  a  dinner  as  she 
sent  up  on  that  day.  A  small  dish  of  fried  meat  was 
at  one  end  of  the  long  table,  and  a  plate  of  corn  bread 
at  the  other,  if  I  remember  correctly,  and  a  very  in- 
sufficient quantity  of  either.  Our  guests  ate  very  little, 
and  did  not  again  stay  to  a  meal. 

The  cook,  good,  simple  soul,  thought  they  would 
want  her  pots  and  kettles.  One  day  she  secreted  her- 
self and  all  her  cooking  utensils  in  a  gully,  and  she  and 
we  had  no  dinner  that  day.  When  she  came  to  tell  us 
about  it  that  night,  she  looked  woe-begone  enough,  and 
we  told  her  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  take  such  pre- 
cautions in  future. 

Papa  had  taken  off  his  two  fine  imported  rifles.  He 
left  a  number  of  others  of  less  value  behind,  the  sport- 
ing guns  of  his  sons.  There  were  eleven  of  them  in 
the  hall.  The  Federals  took  them  all  out  and  broke 
them  against  two  young  water-oaks  that  had  been  set 
out  that  spring.     It  killed  the  two  trees. 

One  day  they  got  more  angry  than  usual,  and  swore 


208     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

with  many  oaths  that  they  meant  to  shoot  the  overseer, 
They  were  drunk  enough  to  do  it.  They  gave  him  five 
minutes  to  prepare  for  death.  The  man  was  no  coward. 
He  said  simply,  "  God  will  be  merciful  to  my  soul. 
He  knows  that  I  am  taken  suddenly  in  my  sins.  My 
poor  wife  and  children !"  He  closed  his  eyes  for  a  few 
minutes  in  prayer,  and  then  said,  "  I  am  ready." 

But  we  had  called  the  two  little  girls  up, — Letty  and 
Lelia.  "We  told  them  that  they  might  save  this  man's 
life  by  their  tears  and  prayers.  We  had  argued  and 
entreated  in  vain, — children  might  be  listened  to  when 
grown  people's  prayers  could  avail  nothing.  The  chil- 
dren burst  out  crying,  wailing,  as  we  knew  they  would, 
and  threw  their  arms  around  Mr.  Scarborough.  Their 
innocent,  childish  grief  made  a  scene  that  was  more 
than  the  men  had  bargained  for.  One  of  the  sisters 
threw  herself  between  the  pistol  and  Mr.  Scarborough's 
body,  saying  that  he  had  stayed  there  to  protect  us, 
and  he  should  not  be  murdered. 

Debased  as  the  men  were,  they  decided  to  release 
Mr.  Scai'borough  and  end  this  scene. 

We  then  begged  Mr.  Scarborough  to  go  home  to  his 
family.  He  had  been  cursed  and  dragged  about  the 
yard  by  his  collar,  and  finally  came  near  losing  his  life 
at  the  hands  of  a  squad  of  irresponsible  camp-followers, 
as  we  supposed  they  were.  No  one  could  protect  us, 
and  the  sight  of  him  seemed  to  exasperate  the  men. 
So  Mr.  Scarborough  went  home,  and  onty  women  and 
children  remained  in  the  house,  about  twelve  of  us 
perhaps. 

The  men  called  up  the  negroes  and  asked  if  it  were 
true  that  all  the  horses  had  been  carried  off  the  place 
by  the  Southern  army,  or  ridden  off  by  the  owners. 
All  knew  that  G-old  Dust  was  hidden  in  the  woods, 
under  the  charge  of  Uncle  Harrison,  and  was  fed  and 
watered  by  him  every  morning  and  night.  But  not 
one  answered. 

One  of  the  ladies  became  alarmed  lest  Uncle  Harri- 
son's fidelity  to  the  family  should  be  betrayed,  which 
might  get  him  into  trouble  with  the  men.  She  an- 
swered that  a  horse  was  hidden  in  the  woods. 


A    WEEK    WITHIN  THE  LINES.  209 

"  Who  can  take  me  to  him  ?"  one  of  them  said. 

"  Uncle  Harrison,"  she  replied. 

The  man  ordered  Uncle  Harrison  to  show  the  way 
to  the  horse. 

He  did  not  move,  but,  instead,  looked  at  his  mistress. 

"  Go,  Uncle  Harrison,"  she  said. 

"Must  I,  missis?"  and  the  old  man  moved  off  re- 
luctantly. He  had  hidden  him  away  off  in  the  deep 
woods,  where  they  could  never  have  found  him,  he  ex- 
plained afterwards. 

When  the  horse  was  brought  up,  one  of  these  rough 
fellows  leaped  on  his  back  and  struck  him  with  his 
great  whip.  The  fine  creature,  that  had  been  trained 
to  go  by  the  word  and  the  reins,  and  did  not  know  the 
meaning  of  a  whip,  reared  and  danced  with  pain. 

The  man  Edmund  who  had  drunk  a  glass  of  wine  in 
the  porch  had  always  been  a  bad  negro.  He  was  set 
as  a  sentinel  to  prevent  our  leaving  the  house.  We 
saw  him  standing  on  the  quarters'  hill  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  off  watching  the  house.*  Perhaps  it  was 
believed  that  we  would  attempt  to  carry  off  valuables. 
All  night  long  the  cavalry  galloped  around  the  house, 
sometimes  under  the  very  windows.  We  could  not 
sleep  for  the  noise  of  their  horses'  hoofs. 

The  servants  were  as  respectful  and  kind  as  ever, 
more  so  indeed.  Aunt  Abby  crept  in  the  house  and 
handed  back  the  package  containing  watches  and  other 
trinkets.  "I  eyarn't  keep  it  any  longer,"  she  sobbed, 
while  the  tears  poured  down  her  venerable  face.  "  Dey 
tells  me  dey  has  a  wand,  and  dat  wand  will  pint  to 
anything  dey  tell  it.  I  gave  up  all  I  had.  I  had  a 
tumbler  glass  full  o'  money,  presents,  an'  things  dat  de 
ladies  had  give  to  me, — half-dollars  an'  things.  I  give 
'em  all  up.  But  I  couldn't  give  up  your  things.  But 
de  wand  will  pint  an'  dey  will  git  'em,  an'  I  bring  'em 
back  to  you  now." 


*  When  the  war  was  over,  "Edmund  Dabney,"  as  he  signed  himself, 
wrote  to  his  old  master  begging  to  be  allowed  to  return  to  Burleigh. 
He  sent  messages  of  humble  apology  by  all  passing  negroes.  He  was 
never  allowed  to  return. 

o  18* 


210     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

They  had  taken  all  the  money  from  every  negro  on 
the  plantation.  Uncle  Isaac  had  buried  eighty  dollars 
in  gold, — the  savings  of  years.  This  he  was  made  to 
unearth.  He  had  lately  bought  a  new  silver  watch,  for 
which  he  had  paid  forty  dollars.  This  was  taken  from 
him.  Uncle  Isaac  was  not  a  special  favorite  with  his 
master,  but  he  had  been  his  playfellow  in  babyhood  and 
boj^hood.  Partly  for  this  reason,  and  partly  because  he 
was  the  master's  own  age,  sixty-three  years,  and  had 
been  for  years  afflicted  with  incurable  lameness,  Thomas 
Dabney  made  him  a  present  of  a  pair  of  his  old  carriage 
horses.  Uncle  Isaac  was  a  preacher,  and  the  horses 
were  intended  to  give  him  ease  and  comfort  in  going 
about  and  in  ploughing  his  own  little  patch.  These 
hoi'ses  he  sold  to  a  stage-driver  for  fifty  dollars.  His 
master  was  disgusted,  as  he  had  not  wished  the  horses 
to  do  hard  work. 

When  Uncle  Isaac  was  robbed  he  came  to  the  house 
to  pour  out  his  full  heart  to  us.  He  went  over  again 
his  old  story  of  being  a  child  of  the  same  year  as  mas- 
ter, and  of  his  getting  a  share  of  the  nourishment  that 
nature  had  provided  for  the  white  baby  "  in  your 
grandma's  arms,  an'  I  called  her  ma  an'  your  pa 
brother  till  I  knowed  better  myself.  She  never  tole 
me  to  stop." 

It  will  be  remembered  that  my  father  was  during 
this  period  about  forty  miles  from  home  within  our 
lines.  Every  morning  when  he  woke  up  his  body-ser- 
vant, George  Page,  told  bim  of  the  number  of  his  ser- 
vants who  had  slipped  away,  back  to  the  plantation,  in 
the  darkness  of  the  preceding  night.  They  were  home- 
sick, and  doubtless  suspected  that  their  master  was  as 
homesick  as  they  were,  and  only  half-hearted  in  keep- 
ing them  in  the  swamp. 

As  the  numbers  of  the  servants  diminished  day  by 
day,  George  Page,  like  Caleb  Osbaldistone,  tried  to 
make  up  in  himself  for  what  he  looked  on  as  the  lack 
of  loyalty  on  the  part  of  the  other  servants.  They 
were  field  negroes;  he  belonged  to  the  house,  and  his 
manner  to  his  master,  during  these  days  in  the  swamp, 
was  touching  in  its  blending  of  affection  with  respect. 


A    WEEK    WITHIN   THE  LINES.  211 

He  had  left  his  wife  and  a  houseful  of  children  of  all 
ages,  to  whom  he  was  tenderly  attached,  on  the  plan- 
tation. He  let  his  master  know  in  every  way  that  he 
was  ready  to  stay  by  his  side  as  long  as  he  wished  him. 

At  Burleigh  we  heard  every  day  of  the  arrival  of  the 
different  negroes.  We  knew  that  our  father  yearned 
to  follow  them,  and  that  he  would  do  so  soon.  Each 
hour  we  trembled  lest  we  should  see  him  ride  up. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  we  resolved  to  get  to  him  be- 
fore he  could  reach  us.  We  had  been  living  within  the 
lines  for  a  week,  and  we  felt  that  we  could  no  longer 
stay  in  our  home  under  the  increasing  anxieties. 

We  packed  a  few  necessary  things  in  two  trunks  to 
be  taken  off  by  Uncle  Isaac  in  a  cart,  and  we  prepared 
to  get  away  on  foot  at  daylight,  before  the  soldiers 
came  from  the  camp.  They  had  said  on  leaving  us  the 
evening  before  that  they  were  coming  back  in  the 
morning  for  the  silver  and  to  send  pickets  in  every 
direction  to  search  for  papa,  and  to  burn  up  the  house 
and  us  in  it,  too. 

Heavy  firing  had  been  going  on  towards  the  north 
for  some  days.  The  Federal  soldiers  had  told  us  with 
loud  boasts  that  they  were  whipping  our  Southern 
soldiers  from  the  battle-fields.  Fortunately,  we  did  not 
know  that  Edward  was  in  these  fights.  We  were  as 
completely  cut  off  from  the  outer  world  as  if  we  had 
been  ourselves  in  a  state  of  siege,  and  knew  nothing 
except  what  they  told  us.  We  tried  not  to  believe 
their  stories  of  our  disasters.  But  they  were  true. 
We  heard  the  battle  of  Eaymond  on  the  12th,  on  the 
14th  the  battle  of  Jackson,  and  on  the  morning  of  the 
16th  the  heaviest  firing  that  we  had  yet  heard  came 
from  the  battle-field  of  Baker's  Creek, — Champion 
Hill  General  Grant  called  it.  Fifteen  thousand  Union 
soldiers  and  twenty-three  thousand  Southern  soldiers 
were  present  at  that  battle ;  but  six  thousand  six  hun- 
dred and  sixty-six  Southern  muskets  were  not  fired, 
owing  to  some  disagreement  between  the  commanders 
it  was  said. 

When  the  sound  of  these  guns  reached  our  ears  we 
were  speeding  away  from  home  as  fast  as  our  feet 


212      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

could  carry  us.  We  were  belated  the  morning  of  the 
16th,  and  did  "not  get  off  till  near  sunrise,  and  then  so 
hurriedly  that  one  was  bareheaded. 

We  had  not  a  moment  to  lose.  In  point  of  fact,  we 
were  pursued  eight  miles  by  two  soldiers.  They  did 
not  overtake  us,  but  were  themselves  overtaken  and 
hanged  by  Southern  soldiers.  They  had  about  their 
persons  the  money  and  jewelry  that  they  had  taken 
from  us  and  our  neighbors.  They  had  gone  out  too 
far  from  their  lines  in  their  eager  chase. 

They  did  not  reach  the  house  till  we  had  been  gone 
about  two  hours.  They  were  angry  that  we  had  gotten 
off  without  giving  up  the  silver  and  other  valuables, 
which  they  felt  sure  we  had  secreted.  They  threatened 
to  burn  the  house  and  then  pursue  us.  Mrs.  Allen, 
who  was  making  her  home  at  Burleigh,  claimed  her 
right  to  protection  as  a  British  subject,  and  they  went 
off  cursing,  as  they  hurried  after  us. 

Two  miles  from  the  house  we  met  our  father,  with 
George  Page  riding  close  by  his  side,  and  the  other 
negroes  following.  He  was  coming  to  us,  as  we  knew 
that  he  would  do.  He  hired  a  wagon  and  put  us  in  it, 
and  in  this  we  travelled  for  a  week  across  the  country 
to  the  Mobile  and  Ohio  Railroad.  A  little  negro  girl 
had  accompanied  us,  running  out  of  the  woods  to  join 
us,  just  as  we  were  turning  out  of  sight  of  the  Bur- 
leigh house. 

"I  want  to  go  wid  de  white  ladies,"  she  said.  "I 
didn't  tell  nobody,  'cus  I  was  'feared  dey  wouldn't 
lemme  go.  I  was  so  'feared  de  white  ladies  would  git 
away  'fore  I  wake  up." 

So  the  plantation  had  known  of  our  intention  of 
leaving,  and  we  had  not  been  betrayed  to  the  soldiers ! 

Papa  had  but  twenty  dollars  in  his  pocket.  We  had 
run  off  without  money;  all  that  we  had  was  buried 
within  the  enemy's  lines.  Everything  was  dear  in  the 
country  through  which  we  passed.  We  lived  on  a  few 
square  inches  of  corn  bread  and  a  few  square  inches  of 
bacon  a  day  during  that  week. 

We  could  not  see  that  little  shiny-faced  black  child 
hungry  after  such  trust  in  us.    Each  of  the  grown  peo- 


A    WEEK    WITHIN   THE  LINES.  213 

pie  cut  off  one-third  of  the  allotted  pittance  of  bread 
and  of  meat  for  Amy.  The  children  seeing  this  did  the 
same  with  their  portions,  and  Amy  was  the  only  soul 
in  that  wagon  who  was  not  hungry  during  that  week. 
She  bad  no  clothes,  either,  but  the  things  that  she  had 
on.  Her  dress  was  of  white  cotton,  clean  and  spotless 
during  the  first  day  only.  "VVe  were  wearing  black  for 
our  dearest  mother.  Very  soon  we  had  to  dress  Amy 
up  in  one  of  our  black  dresses  from  the  scant  contents 
of  the  two  trunks.  She  was  the  best  and  most  useful 
of  little  maids,  and  happy  to  the  end  of  her  short  life. 
She  died  of  pneumonia  a  year  from  this  time,  mourned 
by  all  the  family.  She  could  never  be  made  to  admit 
that  she  was  homesick  or  sorry  for  having  cast  her  for- 
tunes in  with  the  "  white  ladies." 

We  spent  a  week  in  a  wretched  house  near  Enter- 
prise, Mississippi.  At  the  end  of  this  time  J.  E.  Eggles- 
ton,  who  had  lately  married  Sarah  Dabney,  came  up 
from  Mobile  with  money  to  relieve  present  embarrass- 
ments and  to  take  the  family  to  Mobile. 

Two  of  us  were  bareheaded  as  we  travelled  on  the 
train  and  thi-ough  the  streets  of  Mobile.  Three  houses 
were  thrown  open  to  us, — Dr.  Frank  Eoss's,  Major  Wil- 
liam Eoss's,  and  General  Zachariah  Deas's. 

We  rested  for  one  week  under  the  roof  of  Dr.  Erank 
Eoss  and  his  dear  wife,  and  then  took  possession,  free 
of  rent,  of  the  house  of  General  Zachariah  Deas.  The 
hospitable  Mobile  people  said  that  they  were  happy  to 
do  anything  in  their  power  for  soldiers  or  refugees. 
We  lived  for  six  months  in  the  Deas  house.  But  two 
months  of  wretched  anxiety  and  suspense  were  ahead 
of  us  when  we  reached  Mobile  on  that  lovely  day  in 
May.  We  heard  then  for  the  first  time  that  General 
Eemberton's  command  had  fallen  back  into  Yicksburg 
after  the  engagement  at  Baker's  Creek.  Edward  was 
in  this  division,  and  we  did  not  bear  of  his  safety  till 
two  weeks  after  the  surrender  of  Yicksburg.  He  rode 
to  Mobile  on  horseback  after  his  parole,  and  his  appear- 
ance at  the  door  was  our  first  tidings  of  him.  In  the 
torn-up  condition  of  the  country  it  was  often  impossible 
to  get  letters  through. 


214     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

One  of  Thomas  Dabney's  friends,  Adam  Giifen,  of 
New  Orleans,  himself  a  refugee  in  Mobile  at  this  time, 
came  to  offer  his  purse  to  the  family  of  his  friend. 
Thomas  was  absent  and  his  daughters  refused  to  accept 
the  money,  fearing  that  they  would  not  be  able  to  re- 
pay it.  "I  do  not  care  if  I  never  see  it  again,"  Mr. 
.  Giffen  said,  as  he  thrust  two  thousand  dollars  into  her 
hand.  "Your  father  will  pay  me  some  day  if  he  can, 
and  if  he  cannot,  I  shall  not  consider  it  a  debt." 

She  then  tried  to  give  to  Mr.  Giffen  a  receipt  for  the 
money,  but  he  refused  to  receive  it. 

"  A  receipt  from  your  father's  daughter !  ~No,  indeed, 
and  no  thanks  either."  In  a  few  weeks  Thomas  was 
able  to  return  the  two  thousand  dollars  to  his  generous 
friend. 

The  cavalry  company  had  withdrawn  from  their 
camp  on  the  Tallahala  Creek.  Soon  after  the  negroes 
were  brought  down  to  Mobile, — the  one  hundred  who 
had  not  left  the  plantation.  The  money  and  silver  and 
wearing  apparel  also  of  the  family  were  brought  down, 
and  a  good  many  books  and  a  few  other  things  that 
were  valued  as  mementos.  Then  a  sale  was  held  at 
Burleigh,  and  not  only  were  the  furniture,  etc.,  sold  out 
of  the  house,  but  the  stock  and  plantation  implements 
of  all  sorts  were  disposed  of.  Our  father  was  opposed 
to  giving  up  the  accumulations  of  years  in  this  manner, 
but  he  yielded  to  his  daughters,  and  the  plantation  and 
home  were  stripped  bare.  A  handful  of  Confederate 
money  was  all  that  was  brought  by  the  sale. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

REFUGEES. 

At  the  end  of  the  six  months  in  Mobile,  papa  de- 
cided to  take  his  family  to  Macon,  Georgia.  There  he 
bought  a  little  cottage  with  four  diminutive  rooms. 
As  we  drove  up  to  it  in  the  old  family  carriage,  which 


REFUGEES.  215 

we  had  been  able  still  to  keep,  he  handed  us  out,  say- 
ing in  his  bright  way,  "  Welcome  to  Burleigh  IS"o.  2." 

He  could  not  make  his  servants  as  comfortable  as  he 
wished,  and  this  was  a  source  of  regret  to  him.  Many 
of  them  were  hired  in  good  homes,  near  enough  to  come 
to  him  if  they  were  in  trouble ;  but  some  of  them  he 
preferred  not  to  hire  out,  as  they  were  not  strong,  and 
these,  he  said,  were  too  much  crowded  for  their  health. 
They  did  not  complain  of  this  specially,  and  they  seemed 
really  to  enjoy  the  novelty  of  town  life. 

Mammy  Maria,  who  had  left  two  husbands  in  Mis- 
sissippi, came  out  in  the  new  country  as  "  Miss  Dab- 
ney,"  and  attracted,  as  she  informed  her  "white  chil- 
dren," as  much  admiration  as  any  of  the  young  girls, 
and  had  oifers  of  marriage  too.  But  she  meant  to  en- 
joy her  liberty,  she  said,  and  should  not  think  of  mar- 
rying any  of  them. 

In  that  small  cottage  in  Macon  the  rooms  were  little 
more  than  closets,  and  we  were  much  thrown  together. 
We  were  strangers  too  in  Georgia,  although  we  had 
some  very  good  friends  there ;  then  the  times  were 
sad.  We  never  felt  the  family  ties  stronger  than  we 
did  in  that  year  in  Macon,  in  a  house  that  was  built  for 
the  humblest  class  of  factory  people.  It  was  near  the 
railroad  station,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  factories,  and 
we  had  to  stop  talking  at  the  train  hours  and  when  the 
factory  whistles  blew. 

But  the  dear  father  had  no  plantation  to  attend  to, 
and  not  much  to  feel  interest  in  besides  his  little  fire- 
side and  his  absent  children.  So  he  sat  with  us,  and 
he  grew  interested  in  everything  that  we  said  and  did, 
and  we  talked  to  him  as  freely  as  if  he  had  been  an- 
other sister.  At  night  he  left  the  door  of  his  sleeping 
cabinet  open,  and  we  left  ours  open.  We  had  never 
been  so  intimate  with  him  before.  One  cannot  be  in  a 
large  house,  with  rooms  on  different  floors.  He  joined 
in  all  our  talks,  as  we  sisters  lay  in  bed  in  our  room 
and  he  in  his  room,  and  shared  all  our  jokes.  Ever 
since  our  mother's  death  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
singing  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  We  found  out  that 
it  was  because  he  was  lonely,  with  no  one  to  talk  to. 


216  •  MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

In  this  cottage,  when  he  sang  his  funny  songs  in  the 
night,  we  laughed  out,  and  he  would  be  delighted  to 
hear  us.  Then  always  a  talk  sprang  up,  and  we  talked 
till  we  were  all  sleepy.  The  calling  from  bed  to  bed  of 
anything  that  was  interesting  or  amusing,  and  many 
things  that  would  hardly  have  seemed  amusing  at  other 
times,  brought  out  shouts  of  laughter  and  applause  in 
our  midnight  gossipings.  He  enjoyed  it  like  a  boy  on 
a  lark,  as  the  whole  party  did. 

During  our  year  in  Macon  he  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston,  for  whom  he  had 
a  high  admiration.  An  amusing  incident  occurred  one 
day  when  General  Johnston  came  to  call  on  him.  Lelia 
had  wished  much  to  see  the  hero  of  whom  everybody 
was  talking.  Her  nurse  was  fired  with  the  same  de- 
sire, and  they  planned  a  way  of  getting  a  sight  of  him 
through  a  transom  over  the  parlor  door.  Accordingly 
chairs  and  boxes  were  piled  up,  and  she  and  Lelia 
mounted  to  the  top  of  the  pile.  Bat  an  unlucky  move- 
ment caused  the  structure  to  totter,  and  it  fell  with  a 
crash  on  the  floor  of  the  little  back  gallery.  As  a 
matter  of  course,  the  unusual  noise  made  papa  open 
the  door  to  see  what  was  the  ma'tter,  and  this  revealed 
Lelia  and  poor  Milly  overcome  with  confusion  and 
shame  at  having  brought  disgrace  on  the  house  at 
such  a  time.  Papa  was  struck  with  the  ridiculous  as- 
pect of  the  wreck  and  the  culprits,  and  when  General 
Johnston  had  heard  the  explanation  he  laughed  heart- 
ily, and  insisted  on  having  the  child  brought  in.  He 
doubtless  looked  on  the  thing  as  a  compliment  to  him- 
self, as  he  had  good  right  to  do.  But  the  child  in  her 
faded  Confederate  homespun  frock,  and  Milly,  the  aider 
and  abettor  in  the  misdemeanor,  were  very  uncomfort- 
able as  to  their  share  in  the  adventure.  Milly  had  a 
right  to  special  indulgence,  and  the  whole  thing  was 
laughed  off. 

Milly  was  in  Raymond  at  the  time  the  battle  was 
fought  two  miles  from  that  place,  having  been  sent 
thither  to  learn  dress-making.  She  was  dreadfully 
frightened  by  the  guns,  and  ran  about  crying,  "  Oh,  I 
am  'feared  dey  will  kill  de  ladies  at  Burleigh." 


REFUGEES.  217 

"When  General  Stoneman  made  his  raid  on  Macon, 
Thomas  and  his  son  were  among  the  troops  who  went 
out  to  meet  him.  The  following  are  Thomas  Dabney, 
Jr's.,  recollections  of  this  event : 

"In  the  latter  part  of  July,  1864,  General  Stoneman 
was  sent  by  General  Sherman  to  capture  Macon, 
Georgia,  to  liberate  the  United  States  prisoners  there 
confined,  and  to  destroy  the  arsenal  and  ordnance  de- 
partment of  the  Confederate  States  of  America. 

"  General  Stoneman,  accompanied  by  several  brigades 
of  picked  men,  eluded  General  Hood's  army,  and  reached 
Macon  about  an  hour  before  daybreak.  But,  unfor- 
tunately for  him,  a  severe  freshet,  which  occurred  a 
day  or  two  previous  to  his  arrival,  had  washed  the 
bridge  over  the  Ocmulgee  River  away.  The  railroad 
bridge,  about  a  mile  lower  down,  was  still  intact,  but 
before  General  Stoneman  could  recover  from  his  sur- 
prise the  market  gardeners  and  butchers  on  their  way 
to  the  city  discovered  his  presence,  hurried  across  the 
railroad  bridge  and  gave  the  alarm.  Soon  the  streets 
rang  with  the  cry  of  heralds  from  the  mayor  calling 
upon  every  one  who  could  shoulder  a  gun  to  run  to  the 
railroad  bridge  to  defend  it  at  all  hazards. 

"  Father  and  I  ran  to  the  arsenal  and  got  forty  rounds 
of  ammunition  apiece,  and  then  ran  all  the  way  to  the 
bridge,  over  a  mile  distant.  We  were  among  the  first 
to  arrive,  but  soon  old  men  and  boys  began  to  pour  in 
from  all  quarters.  A  considerable  number  of  conva- 
lescents from  the  numerous  hospitals  located  in  Macon 
joined  us.  We  were  none  too  soon,  for  already  could 
be  seen  the  long  lines  of  the  enemy  not  over  a  half- 
mile  from  the  bridge,  and  every  few  moments  shot  and 
shell  whistled  over  the  heads  of  the  defenders  of  that 
bridge. 

"  Father's  company  was  Company  A,  Findley's  bat- 
talion, but  it  generally  went  by  the  name  of  the  'Silver 
Grays,'  from  the  color  of  the  hair  of  the  members.  I 
was  the  only  member  in  it  without  a  gray  head. 

"  Finally  the  enemy  moved  his  position  farther  clown 
the  river,  and  General  Johnston  ordered  most  of  his 
k  19 


218     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

men  across  the  river,  leaving  Company  A  to  defend  the 
bridge. 

"  A  furious  cannonade  was  opened  upon  this  point,  but 
as  we,  according  to  orders,  were  lying  behind  the  rail- 
road embankment,  none  of  the  Silver  Grays  were 
touched  until  Major  Taliaferro  placed  two  cannon  on 
our  side  of  the  river  and  proposed  returning  the  enemy's 
fire.  Volunteers  to  man  the  guns  were  called  for. 
In  an  instant  father  and  many  other  old  gentlemen 
were  busy  loading  tbe  two  twenty-pounders  that  were 
to  commit  such  havoc  in  those  serried  blue  lines  just 
on  the  crest  of  yonder  hill.  Our  shot  flew  wide  of  the 
mark  and  the  blue  lines  wavered  not.  Suddenly  the 
enemy  ceased  firing,  and  horsemen  were  seen  galloping 
up  and  down  the  long  line.  We  were  beginning  to  feel 
much  encouraged,  when  suddenly  an  old  soldier  cried 
out,  'Look,  the  enemy  is  massing  his  batteries!'  It 
was  only  too  true.  Cannon  seemed  to  come  from  every- 
where, and  a  perfect  storm  of  shot  and  shell  burst  upon 
our  devoted  heads.  In  a  few  minutes  our  guns  were 
silenced,  but  not  until  several  of  the  Silver  Grays  lay 
dead  beside  the  little  brazen  guns  which  brought  us 
nothing  but  death. 

"  We  were  ordered  to  lie  down  again.  The  battle 
scene  shifted,  and  finally  General  Stoneman  and  most 
of  his  men  were  outwitted  and  captured.  A  small 
brigade  of  Texans  under  the  gallant  General  Gregg,  I 
think,  coming  up  in  the  enemy's  rear  decided  the  day 
in  our  favor. 

"  Father  and  I  did  not  fire  a  gun  during  the  entire 
day." 

One  night  while  we  were  in  Macon  papa  was  taking 
us  to  the  tligato^tnd  we  happened  to  meet  Mammy 
Maria  on  the  way.  Hearing  where  we  were  going, 
she  said,  "  Why  don't  you  take  me  too,  master  ?  I  never 
been  to  the  theatre  in  my  life."  So  he  told  her  to  come 
along.  When  we  got  there,  mammy  was  quite  dis- 
gusted at  being  told  by  the  door-keeper  that  she  was  to 
sit  in  the  gallery,  instead  of  with  her  white  people. 
When  the  play  was  over — it  was  "  Taming  the  Shrew" — 


REFUGEES.  219 

and  mammy  rejoined  us  at  the  door,  she  was  in  a  state 
of  excitement.  She  had  been  dreadfully  scared  by  the 
fighting  on  the  stage,  and  feared  that  Petruchio  might 
go  up  in  the  gallery  and  fight  there  too. 

After  the  battle  of  Eesaca  and  New  Hope  Church, 
the  wounded  were  sent  to  Macon,  and  they  were  laid 
out  on  the  floor  of  the  railroad  station  in  long  rows. 
Their  wounds  had  been  dressed  on  the  field  two  days 
before,  but  not  since,  and  they  had  had  no  food  during 
those  days.  Thomas  Dabney  took  every  available 
thing  in  the  house  to  nourish  them,  and  his  daughters, 
under  his  direction,  made  lint  and  toi'e  up  linen  into 
long  strips.  They  accompanied  him,  and  helped  to 
minister  to  the  suffering  men,  binding  up  wounds, 
giving  them  hot  tea,  milk,  and  other  refreshment. 

The  surgeons  soon  discovered  that  he  understood 
dressing  wounds,  as  he  went  from  one  soldier  to  an- 
other, putting  on  fresh  bandages  and  helping  his 
daughters  in  cases  that  they  could  not  manage. 

Years  after,  as  he  was  getting  on  a  railroad  train,  a 
man  seized  his  hand,  and  said,  "  I  can  never  forget 
you,  sir.  You  dressed  my  wound  at  Jtfacon."  Thomas 
could  not  recall  the  man's  face,  he  had  dressed  the 
wounds  of  so  many.  But  the  man  was  not  satisfied 
till  he  made  him  recollect  which  one  he  was. 

"  I  asked  your  daughter  to  dress  my  wound,  and  she 
said  that  she  could  not,  but  she  brought  you  to  do  it 
for  me."  And  this  recalled  the  circumstance  to  his 
memory. 

The  only  groans  heard  from  those  wounded  men  came 
from  two  sweet-faced  young  boys.  They  were  shot 
through  the  head,  and  were  delirious,  and  both  were 
dying.     One  of  them  said,  "Kiss  me,  mother." 

As  they  left  this  scene,  Thomas's  daughter  said  to 
him,  "  I  could  not  get  to  the  boy.  I  begged  the  lady 
standing  near  him  to  kiss  him." 

"Yes,  I  heard  you,"  Thomas  replied,  in  a  husky 
voice. 

The  lady  had  passed  her  hand  over  the  lips  of  the 
dying  lad,  and  said,  "  That  seems  to  satisfy  him." 


■J 


220      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

TO   HIS   DAUGHTER-  EMMT. 

"Macon,  Georgia,  16th  August,  1864. 
..."  Tommy  and  I  belong  to  an  organization  com- 
posed of  citizens  exempt  by  age, — a  fine  looking  body 
of  gentlemen.     Tommy,  I  think,  is  the  only  member 
under  fifty  years  of  age."* 

TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMT. 

"Macon,  Georgia,  18th  September,  1864. 

..."  I  write  now  to  say,  as  you  may  well  imagine, 
that  our  troubles  are  not  ended,  the  Yankees  still 
struggling  to  reach  our  abode,  poor  as  it  now  is.  We 
cannot  now  pretend  to  know  the  immediate  objects  of 
Sherman,  but  think  it  prudent  to  suppose  that,  either 
immediately  or  ultimately,  Macon  will  become  an  object 
of  interest  with  him.  Under  this  view  of  the  subject  I 
have  concluded  to  leave  here  on  Wednesday,  the  21st 
inst.  I  will  take  the  family  and  the  establishment 
of  servants  to  Burleigh.  .  .  .  Nothing  could  be  more 
injudicious  than  an  attempt  on  your  part  to  reach 
us.  The  trains  are  all  in  the  hands  of  the  government, 
private  travel  excluded,  except  by  freight  boxes,  on 
freight  trains.  Occasionally  a  few  beg  themselves  into 
the  express  car,  a  close  box,  and  this  was  the  manner 
of  my  getting  Mrs.  Governor  Brown  off.  We  will  have 
to  go  by  the  freight  train,  if  at  all,  and  I  believe  I  shall 
succeed  in  this." 

From  the  day  that  General  Johnston  was  relieved 
from  the  command  of  the  Army  of  Northern  Georgia 
Thomas  had  no  hope  for  the  Confederacy,  and  he  now 
wished  to  take  his  family  back  to  Burleigh  while  it 
could  yet  be  done. 

He  had  never  liked  Jefferson  Davis,  and  now  he  was 
confirmed  in  his  view  of  his  character,  that  he  would 
brook  no  rival  to  his  face.  He  believed  that  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Confederacy  would  prefer  to  sacrifice  his 
country  i*ather  than  have  it  owe  its  independence  to 

*  He  was  fourteen. 


REFUGEES.  221 

General  Johnston.  Thomas  Dabney  had  never  been 
introduced  to  Mr.  Davis,  although  he  had  been  several 
times  in  bis  company.  When  friends  proposed  to  in- 
troduce him  he  refused.  It  was  a  great  blow  to  him 
when  Mr.  Davis  was  made  the  President  of  the  Con- 
federacy. He  tried  to  overcome  his  prejudice  and  to 
hope  for  the  best,  but  still  adhered  to  his  resolution  of 
not  meeting  him.  He  allowed  his  daughters  to  attend 
the  receptions  given  to  the  President  at  Mobile  and 
Macon,  in  bis  progress  through  the  Confederate  States, 
and  laughed  when  he  heard  from  them,  after  each  re- 
ception, that  Mr.  Davis  had  said  in  shaking  hands,  "  Ah, 
Colonel  Dabney's  daughters.  Your  father  is  a  good 
friend  of  mine,  and  I  am  happy  to  see  you." 

He  admired  the  gallant  soldier  who  was  put  in  Gen- 
eral Johnston's  place,  but  felt,  with  most  other  people, 
that  General  Hood's  love  of  fighting  would  lead  him  to 
take  too  great  risks. 

\Py  paying  several  thousand  dollars  in  Confederate 
money  Thomas  was  able  to  charter  two  cars,  and  in 
these  he  took  his  family  from  Macon,  Georgia,  to  Jack- 
son, Mississippi ;  the  white  family  in  one  and  the  ser- 
vants in  the  other.  We  were  two  weeks  on  the  jour- 
ney, and  so  well  had  everything  been  planned  that  we 
found  it  the  most  comfortable  long  journey  that  we  had 
ever  undertaken.  The  furniture  was  placed  in  our  car, 
the  beds  made  up,  a  table  or  two,  with  books  and  writ- 
ing materials,  set  about,  and  the  chairs  placed  as  if  we 
had  been  at  home  in  our  own  house.  Even  the  pet  cat, 
whose  mother  and  brothers  and  sisters  had  been  on 
board  the  "Gaines"  in  the  naval  engagement  in  Mobile 
Bay,  was  in  that  car  with  us.  She  had  been  taken  to 
Macon  from  Mobile,  and  on  her  arrival  had  promptly 
run  away.  A  reward  of  twenty  dollars,  offered  through 
the  morning  paper,  had  brought  her  back.  When 
somebody  laughed  at  the  advertisement  and  thought  it 
a  joke,  papa  answered,  "It  is  no  joke.  I  offer  it  in 
earnest.  My  daughter  is  a  refugee  and  has  little  enough 
to  amuse  her,  and  shall  not  lose  the  kitten  if  I  can 
help  it." 

On  our   long  journey  we  did  not  travel  at  night. 
19* 


222     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

The  servants  cooked  a,  hot  supper  and  breakfast  for  us 
and  for  themselves  every  da}T,  getting  out  and  making 
a  fire  by  the  side  of  the  car-track.  Sometimes,  most 
of  the  time  indeed,  they  held  big  religious  meetings 
in  their  car.  We  could  hear  the  preaching  and  the 
hymns  above  the  sound  of  the  running  cars.  As  we 
ran  very  slowly  and  irregularly,  this  was  not  strange. 
At  several  towns  we  spent  a  whole  day,  and  on  such 
occasions  we  got  off  and  called  on  friends  and  shopped 
a  little. 

Our  father's  sister,  Mrs.  Chamberlayne,  had  joined 
him  in  Georgia,  and  accompanied  us  to  our  Mississippi 
home.  A  more  delightful  companion  could  not  be 
imagined.  Her  rare  mental  gifts,  disciplined  and 
brightened  by  a  lifetime  of  steady  and  judicious  read- 
ing, inspired  the  most  profound  admfration  in  the  circle 
of  young  people  who  gathered  around  her.  She  was 
practical,  too,  and  made  many  happy  suggestions  to 
promote  the  comfort  of  the  party. 

Papa  was  singularly  simple  and  unobservant  in  some 
of  his  ways.  This  peculiarity  led  him  into  an  amusing 
contretemps  on  this  journey. 

A  sudden  shower  had  caught  several  of  us  as  we 
were  out  walking  while  laying  up  for  the  night  at  Co- 
lumbus, Georgia.  One  of  the  daughters  was  drenched 
to  the  skin,  and  had  no  dress  to  make  a  change.  Our 
good  neat  Hannah  had  a  blue  homespun,  which  she  had 
just  washed  and  ironed  in  the  nicest  fashion,  and  it  was 
decided  to  borrow  her  dress  rather  than  run  the  risk 
of  getting  a  cold.  It  was  late  in  September  and  chilly. 
We  had  a  family  laugh  over  the  ridiculous  apj)earance 
of  Hannah's  long-waisted,  ill-fitting  dress.  It  was 
novel  and  very  amusing  until  a  visitor's  voice  was  heard 
at  the  car  door. 

At  the  first  note  the  blue  homespun  whisked  under 
one  of  the  tables.  The  gentleman  was  ushered  in  by 
papa  and  introduced,  and  he  was  so  well  entertained 
that  he  sat  there  during  the  greater  part  of  the  even- 
ing. By  and  by  he  remarked  that  he  had  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  one  of  the  young  ladies  some  time 
before.     But  she  did  not  seem  to  be  present,  as  he  re- 


OLD   MASTER.  223 

membered  that  she  had  very  black  eyes,  while  those 
whom  he  now  saw  had  blue  eyes. 

"  Where  is  your  sister  ?"  papa  asked  at  once.  It  was 
in  vain  to  hint  to  him  that  she  preferred  not  making 
her  appearance,  that  she  had  been  caught  in  the  shower, 

etc.     "Mr. wishes  to  see  her,"  he  said.     "Sue  must 

be  the  one.  She  has  black  eyes,  you  know.  My  dear, 
where  are  you?     Mr. is  inquiring  for  you." 

There  was  no  getting  out  of  it.  Papa  never  could 
understand  a  hint  or  a  wink  in  his  life.  So  the  head 
was  thrust  from  under  the  table. 

"  Ah,  there  she  is,"  said  papa,  not  seeing  the  ridicu- 
lous aspect  of  the  thing.  And  he  performed  the  intro- 
duction formally,  as  he  always  did  such  courtesies, 
ending  with,  "  She  is  the  one.  You  see  her  eyes  are 
black." 

"Yes,"  said  the  visitor,  as  the  two  exchanged  bows. 
"  But  there  must  be  another.  This  is  not  the  one  whom 
I  met." 

"  Ah,  you  mean  my  daughter  Emmy,  then.  Yes,  her 
eyes  are  black  too.  She  is  in  Virginia,  on  a  visit  to 
some  of  her  schoolmates." 

And  papa  was  so  dignified  thi'oughout  that  thei^e 
seemed  no  occasion  to  be  amused.  Perhaps  the  visitor 
concluded  that  as  his  host  saw  nothing  peculiar  in  that 
under-the-table  introduction,  it  was  an  every-day  oc- 
currence.  The  dark-eyed  one  drew  her  head  back 
under  the  table,  and  was  not  again  interrupted  in  her 
seclusion. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

OLD    MASTER. 


It  was  a  great  happiness  to  get  back  home,  and  to  be 
welcomed  by  the  dear  Augustine  Dabneys.  They  had 
lived  at  Burleigh  during  the  year  and  a  half  that  the 
family  had  spent  as  refugees.  The  home  in  Raymond 
had  been  rented  out,  and  the  two  families  spent  several 


224     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

happy  months  together  at  Burleigh.  We  frequently 
numbered  twenty-five  or  even  more  at  the  table  during 
this  time,  and  a  gayer,  merrier  circle  could  not  well  be 
imagined,  v  Flour  was  almost  unknown  in  that  part  of 
the  Confederacj^,  coffee  and  sugar  were  about  as  scai'ce 
as  flour.  We  had  coffee  made  of  peanuts  or  potatoes, 
black  tea  made  of  blackberry-leaves,  and  green  tea  made 
of  holly-leaves.  We  gave  "  war"  names  to  all  the  va- 
rieties of  corn-bread  that  appeared  on  the  table.  We 
had  rebel  bread,  Beauregard  cakes,  etc.  It  was  so 
delightful  to  be  in  the  old  home  again,  that  the  younger 
members  of  the  family  almost  threw  off  the  depressing 
feeling  of  the  war  for  a  time.  Privations  had  almost 
ceased  to  be  felt.  We  had  scarcely  any  clothes.  A 
percale  apiece  at  fifteen  dollars  a  yard  had  been  bought 
as  a  great  bargain  ;  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  had 
been  given  for  a  purple  calico  dress  for  Sophy,  a  pair 
of  coarse  shoes  cost  forty  dollars,  a  pound  of  tea  twenty- 
five  dollars,  and  it  rose  to  fifty  dollars  in  two  days.  Our 
roasts  of  beef  in  Macon  cost  fifty  dollars  apiece.  The 
only  bridal  present  bought  for  one  of  our  brides  during 
the  war  was  a  pair  of  green  kid  gloves, — white  could 
not  be  bought, — they  cost  fifty  dollars,  and  were  both 
for  the  left  hand !  Our  shoes  were  made  of  the  skins 
of  oxen,  roughly  tanned  by  the  plantation  shoemaker, 
and  manufactured  into  coverings  for  the  feet  by  him. 
Some  idea  of  the  appearance  and  fit  of  his  handiwork 
may  be  formed  when  it  is  known  that  his  boast  was 
that  it  was  unnecessary  for  him  to  take  measurements 
of  the  feet  of  the  ladies.  "I  jes'  have  to  glarnce  at 
your  foot,  missis,  an'  I  ken  fit  it." 

It  may  be  said  of  these  prices  that  they  were  only 
Confederate  money,  but  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that 
each  Confederate  dollar  represented  to  this  family  what 
had  been  a  dollar  in  specie.  The  income  in  Confederate 
money  was  no  larger  than  the  income  had  been  in  gold. 
But  people  tried  not  to  think  of  these  things,  and 
laughed  as  they  saw  the  amusing  substitutes  contrived 
out  of  unsuitable  and  incongruous  material. 

The  }Toung  people  got  up  amusements  in  the  house. 
The  longest  to  bo  remembered  with  pride  and  pleasure 


OLD  MASTER.  2^27 

was  the  acting  of  two  plays, — "She  Stoops  to  Conquer" 
and  "Taming  the  Shrew."  We  had  fourteen  actors  in 
our  plays.  The  Raymond  Dabneys  had  a  natural  taste 
for  acting,  and,  though  the  cousins  had  less,  the  plays 
passed  off  to  the  satisfaction  of  all.  Thomas  Dabney 
said  in  his  enthusiastic  way  that  the  star  companies 
that  he  had  seen  in  New  York  did  not  entertain  him 
better. 

But  he  could  not  stay  at  home  with  us.  He  had  hired 
out  some  of  his  servants  in  Montgomery,  and  he  felt  it 
a  duty  to  stay  there.  It  was  a  great  trial  to  him,  at 
his  age,  to  undertake  this  desolate  life  away  from  his 
family.  The  following  letters  were  written  at  this 
period : 

TO   HIS    CHILDREN. 

"Exchange  Hotel,  Montgomery,  Alabama, 
"22d  October,  1864. 

"  My  beloved  Children, —  .  .  .  You  must  not  trouble 
yourselves  about  my  discomforts,  for  they  are  not  to  be 
avoided.  They  are  doubtless  sufficient,  but  how  many 
others  have  to  endure  more !  Just  think  of  Sheridan's 
proceedings  in  the  Yalley  of  Yirginia,  burning  every 
house,  barn,  mill,  and  every  stack  of  hay,  and  killing 
or  driving  off  every  negro,  horse,  mule,  ox,  cow,  and 
every  other  animated  thing,  leaving  the  entire  white 
population  without  shelter  or  food." 

TO    HIS   CHILDREN. 

"  Montgomery,  4th  November,  1864. 

"It  beloved  Children, — My  last  was  addressed  to 
Sophy,  although  under  the  above  caption.  This,  in  ro- 
tation, will  be  to  Emmy,  but  all  and  each  will  be  con- 
sidered as  addressed,  as  I  have  nothing  to  say  that  may 
not  interest  all  equally.  I  have  heard  from  none  of 
you  since  Sophy's  letter,  but,  out  of  sheer  loneliness, 
have  to  write  to  you  and  imagine  that  I  am  talking 
with  you.  I  wrote  to  Sarah  several  days  ago,  and  have 
been  inquiring  at  the  post-office  for  letters,  without  get- 
ting any,  until  I  begin  to  feel  ashamed  to  trouble  the 
clerk  so  much  for  nothing.     In  some  respects  this  place 


2&i6      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

is  better  than  Macon,  but  in  others  not  so  good,  and 
especially  to  me.  It  is  much  better  for  the  negroes,  as 
they  are  all  fed  to  the  extent  of  their  desires,  both  at 
the  government  establishments  and  by  private  individ- 
uals who  hire  them.  And  yet,  meat  is  as  high  here  as 
in  Macon.  I  have  to  pay  three  dollars  and  fifty  cents 
per  pound  for  bacon,  and  two  dollars  to  two  dollars  and 
fifty  cents  per  pound  for  beef.  Meal  is  not  so  higb,  nor 
are  potatoes.  For  the  latter  I  give  six  dollars  per 
bushel,  instead  of  twelve  dollars  to  fifteen  dollars  as  in 
Macon.  Wood  is  dearer  here,  being  fifty  dollars  per 
cord.  The  hotels  here  have  raised  their  rates  to  thirty 
dollars  a  day,  but  that  does  not  affect  me,  as  I  am  keep- 
ing house,  or  rather  rooms,  and  having  my  own  cook- 
ing done.  It  is  a  poor  thing,  however,  and  monoto- 
nous, as  I  have  fried  beefsteak  for  each  meal,  with  a 
pone  of  corn-bread  and  a  potato  or  two.  When  I  be- 
come tii'ed  of  that  I  will  vary  it  to  pork  or  mutton. 
The  fish  hei'e  are  out  of  the  question,  nothing  but  buf- 
falo, catfish,  and  jumpers.  Such  as  these  I  cannot  eat, 
unless  reduced  to  extremity,  of  which  there  is  no  fear. 
This  place,  to  me,  is  not  so  good  as  Macon,  because  I 
have  not  as  yet  made  the  right  sort  of  acquaintances, 
or  not  many  of  them.  I  find  living  here  a  Dr.  Semple, 
a  son  of  Judge  Semple,  of  Williamsburg.  ...  I  also 
dined  the  other  day  with  Mr.  Woodleaf,  refugee  from 
New  Orleans,  whom  some  of  you  may  remember  having 
seen  at  Cooper's  Well.  .  .  .  They  gave  me  a  fine  dinner, 
good  for  any  time,  and  some  extra  fine  music  after- 
wards, according  to  the  Italian,  Spanish,  and  French 
books,  for  we  had  some  of  each  sort,  done  up  in  true 
operatic  fashion,  I  suppose.  It  was  a  leetle  too  foreign 
for  my  ear,  but  that  was  my  fault,  and  not  the  fault  of 
the  music. 

"  If  I  fail  to  get  a  letter  from  some  of  you  within  a 
day  or  two  I  shall  go  crazy,  to  use  a  favorite  expression 
of  Sarah's." 

TO    HIS   CHILDREN. 

"Montgomery,  5th  November,  1864. 

"My  beloved  Children, —  ...  I  really  believe  that 
I  wrote  to  you  on  yesterday,  and  dumpsily  at  that,  for 


OLD   MASTER.  227 

I  was  in  the  dumps  and  feeling  badly, — lonely.  But 
I  have  recovered  of  that  and  feel  very  well,  and  not 
lonely  at  all,  especially  now  that  I  ana  writing  to  you 
all.  I  feel  finely,  in  fact,  and  do  not  expect  to  feel 
otherwise  again." 

He  was  reproaching  himself  for  that  approach  to  a 
murmur ! 

The  condition  of  the  country  during  the  war  inter- 
rupted my  father's  life-long  correspondence.  His  corre- 
spondence was  very  large  for  a  private  gentleman.  His 
business  letters  were  necessarily  many,  and  his  friendly 
letters  occupied  him  during  a  part  of  every  day.  Unfor- 
tunately, scarcely  any  letters  written  by  him  previous  to 
the  war  were  preserved.  It  is  especially  unfortunate 
that  his  letters  to  his  brother  should  have  been  destroyed. 
During  nearly  his  whole  life  he  wrote  to  him  several 
times  a  week,  at  times  he  wrote  to  him  every  day,  and 
even  several  times  a  day.  He  consulted  Augustine  on 
nearly  all  subjects,  and  wrote  to  him  unreservedly  of  all 
that  interested  him,  not  only  with  regard  to  family  mat- 
ters, but  his  views  and  opinions  on  politics  and  all  the 
questions  of  the  day.  These  letters  would  give  the  best 
life  of  the  two  brothers  that  could  be  written. 

At  this  time  of  his  life  he  was  often  said  to  resemble 
General  Lee  in  appearance.  The  Mississippi  soldiers, 
coming  home  on  fui-lough,  often  spoke  of  it.  When 
General  Lee  reviewed  the  Eighteenth  Mississippi  Regi- 
ment, many  of  whom  went  from  our  part  of  the  State, 
the  men  threw  up  their  hats  and  shouted,  "  Three 
cheers  for  Colonel  Labney!" 

In  January,  1865,  much  to  the  regret  of  both  house- 
holds, the  Raymond  Dabneys  left  Burleigh.  They 
moved  to  a  house  in  the  neighborhood,  and  almost 
daily  intercourse  was  kept  up  during  this  year.  Then 
they  returned  to  the  home  in  Raymond. 

From  this  time  the  intercourse  between  the  two 
families  became  less  frequent.  The  ties  seemed  as  bind- 
ing as  ever,  but  circumstances  were  changed.  Many 
of  the  younger  members  of  both  households  began' to 
leave  the  home-nests. 


228     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

The  war  ended  in  April.  The  news  of  Lincoln's 
assassination  came  a  short  time  previous  to  this,  and 
was  received  with  deep  regret  by  Thomas.  "  He  was 
the  best  friend  that  we  had,"  he  said,  "  and  his  death 
was  the  greatest  calamity  that  could  have  befallen  the 
South." 

It  was  no  longer  Thomas's  duty  to  spend  a  part  of 
his  time  in  Montgomery,  Alabama.  He  was  at  Bur- 
leigh when  he  heard  of  General  Lee's  surrender.  On 
the  day  that  the  news  reached  him,  he  called  his  son 
Thomas  to  him,  and  they  rode  together  to  the  field 
where  the  negroes  were  at  work.  He  informed  them 
of  the  news  that  had  reached  him,  and  that  they  were 
now  free.  His  advice  was  that  they  should  continue  to 
work  the  crop  as  they  had  been  doing.  At  the  end  of 
the  year  they  should  receive  such  compensation  for 
their  labor  as  he  thought  just. 

From  this  time  till  January  1,  1866,  no  apparent 
change  took  place  among  the  Burleigh  negroes.  Those 
who  worked  in  the  fields  went  out  as  usual,  and  culti- 
vated and  gathered  in  the  crops.  In  the  house,  they 
went  about  their  customary  duties.  We  expected  them 
to  go  away,  or  to  demand  wages,  or  at  least  to  give 
some  sign  that  they  knew  they  were  free.  But,  ex- 
cept that  they  were  very  quiet  and  serious,  and  more 
obedient  and  kind  than  they  had  ever  been  known  to 
be  for  more  than  a  few  weeks,  at  a  time  of  sickness  or 
other  affliction,  we  saw  no  change  in  them. 

At  Christmas  such  compensation  was  made  them  for 
their  services  as  seemed  just.  Afterwards  fixed  wages 
were  offered  and  accepted.  Thomas  called  them  up 
now  and  told  them  that  as  they  no  longer  belonged  to 
him  they  must  discontinue  calling  him  "  master." 

"Yes,  marster,""yes,  marster,"  was  the  answer  to  this. 
"  They  seem  to  bring  in  '  master'  and  say  it  oftener 
than  they  ever  did,"  was  his  comment,  as  he  related 
the  occurrence  to  his  children.  This  was  true.  The 
name  seemed  to  grow  into  a  term  of  endearment.  As 
time  went  on,  and  under  the  changed  order  of  things, 
negroes  whom  he  had  never  known  became  tenants  on 
his  plantation;  these  new  people  called  him  master  also. 


OLD   MASTER.  229 

This  was  unprecedented  in  the  South,  1  think.  They 
were  pi'oud  of  living  on  his  place,  on  account  of  the 
good  name  that  he  had  won  for  himself  as  a  master. 
Not  infrequently  they  were  heard  to  express  a  regret 
that  they  had  not  belonged  to  him  when  they  saw  the 
feeling  that  existed  between  himself  and  his  former 
slaves.  Sometimes  he  came  to  us  with  a  puzzled  look 
to  ask  who  those  negroes  were  who  had  just  called  him 
old  master  and  shaken  hands  with  him. 

"  I  cannot  recall  their  faces,"  he  would  say ;  "  surely, 
1  never  owned  them  ?" 

Finally  the  negroes  on  the  neighboring  plantations, 
and  wherever  he  went,  came  to  call  him  old  master. 
They  seemed  to  take  pride  in  thus  claiming  a  relation- 
ship with  him,  as  it  were;  and  he  grew  accustomed  to 
the  voluntary  homage. 

He  had  come  home  to  a  house  denuded  of  nearly 
every  article  of  furniture,  and  to  a  plantation  stripped 
of  the  means  of  cultivating  any  but  a  small  proportion 
of  it.  A  few  mules  and  one  cow  comprised  the  stock. 
We  had  brought  a  few  pieces  of  common  furniture  from 
Georgia,  and  a  very  few  necessary  articles  were  bought. 
In  the  course  of  time  some  home-made  contrivances 
and  comforts  relieved  the  desolate  appearance  of  the 
rooms,  but  no  attempt  was  ever  made  to  refurnish  the 
house. 

He  owned  nothing  that  could  be  turned  into  money 
without  great  sacrifice  but  five  bales  of  cotton.  There 
were  yet  two  sons  and  two  daughters  to  be  educated. 
He  decided  to  get  a  tutor  for  them,  and  to  receive  sev- 
eral other  pupils  in  his  house  in  order  to  make  up  the 
salary.  The  household  was  put  on  an  economical  foot- 
ing. The  plantation  negroes  were  hired  to  work  in  the 
fields,  and  things  seemed  to  promise  more  prosperous 
days.     So  the  first  year  was  passed. 

Of  this  time  Mammy  Harriet  says,  "  When  he  come 
from  Georgia  he  say,  '  Harriet,  I  cannot  do  as  I  used 
to  do.  You  know  I  used  to  send  whiskey  to  you  all 
the  time.     But  I  cannot  do  that  now.' 

"  '  Yes,  marster,  I  understan'.     I  don't  expec'  it.' 

"Ah,  you  don't  know  de  good  dat  did  me !  We  was 
20 


230      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

down  de  cellar,  an'  he  had  call  me  to  ask  ef  I  didn't 
want  a  piece  o'  de  veal  dat  was  hangin'  up  dyar.  An' 
he  cut  it  for  me  himself." 

Here  mammy's  thoughts  went  back  to  the  war-times, 
and  she  went  on  : 

"Dat  big  man  Edmund  come  to  me  an'  he  say, '  Ole 
'oman,  do  you  want  me  to  box  up  your  things  ?  I  have 
packed  up  a  heap  o'  things  for  de  udder  people.'  He 
had  he  saw  an'  hammer  in  he  hand.  I  said, '  No,  I  don't 
want  anything  boxed  up.  I  am  not  goin'  anywhere.' 
He  said  I  was  foolish, — that  all  de  people  were  goin' 
because  dere  was  a  ship-load  o'  money  at  Grand  Gulf 
for  'em.  I  tole  him  dat  it  could  stay  there  then.  I 
would  not  leave.  He  was  very  mad  and  say, '  Yes,  you 
an'  ole  sis  Kitty  are  jes'  alike.  You  are  'feared  o'  losin' 
some  o'  }Tour  plunder  here.'  I  tole  him  to  go  out  o'  my 
door,  an'  he  went  out,  an'  I  hab  never  seen  him  since. 
He  come  to  a  bad  end  after  all.     He  was  shot. 

"  After  marster  come  from  Georgia,  he  come  to  me 
one  day  an'  say, — 

"  '  Harriet,  what  made  Becky  leave  me  ?' 

" I  tole  him  that  Becky  was  forced  off* 

"  He  say,  '  Why  did  Major  leave  me  ?' 

"  I  say, '  Marster,  I  will  tell  you  de  truth.  You  your- 
self did  wrong.      You  leff  your  people.      Two  white 

men,  Mr. and  Mr. ,  tole  us  dat  you  leff  dem 

to  take  us  to  Leaf  River.  We  would  have  died  before 
we  would  have  followed  dem!1  Marster  hadn't  nebber 
tole  dem  !  He  was  'stonished.  '  Yes,'  I  said,  '  an'  dey 
went  in  de  field  an'  shot  guns  at  our  people  to  skeer 
'em.'     They  wanted  to  force  'em  to  go  wid  'em. 

"Dey  shot  at  my  gal  Mary  as  she  was  comin'  home 
to  her  baby  at  night,  an'  she  run  an'  fall  in  a  gully, 

*  Becky  was  one  of  his  greatest  favorites.  She  was  subject  to  violent 
illnesses,  and  at  such  times  he  bathed  her  head  with  his  own  hands,  and 
he  and  his  wife  and  children  held  her  head  and  sat  by  her  till  the  crisis 
was  passed.  Cakes  that  she  specially  fancied  were  made  by  the  ladies 
themselves  for  her.  A  few  days  after  her  husband,  Edmund,  forced  her 
off,  she  was  dying,  where  many  of  the  Hinds  County  negroes  died,  on 
the  banks  of  the  Big  Black.  As  she  lay  dying,  she  cried  out,  "  If  I 
could  only  get  back  to  my  marster !  If  I  could  only  get  back  to  my 
marster  1" 


THE   CROWN  OF  POVERTY.  231 

an'  stayed  out  all  night,  away  from  her  chile.  An'  I 
had  to  hold  dat  chile  all  night  an'  to  feed  it.  "When 
Mary  got  home  she  could  hardly  walk,  an'  she  is  lame 
in  dat  ankle  to  dis  day  in  cloudy  weather.  Mary  tole 
me  dat  dese  men  were  goin'  to  whip  her  de  nex'  day, 
an'  she  say,  '  Mammy,  dey  shall  not  whip  me.  I  will 
run  away  before  dey  do  dat.' 

"  Then  God  did  something.     I  know  that  he  did  it. 

"  Young  Mars  Edward  heard  dat  pistol  go  off  dat  was 
aimed  at  Mary,  an'  he  an'  his  body-servant,  William, 
come  back  home.  An'  dey  stayed  in  de  house  dat 
night.  I  say,  '  Mary,  de  young  marster  is  here.  He 
will  protect  us.  G-o  straight  to  him ;  to  no  one  else. 
Tell  him  all  about  it.'  She  went  to  him,  an'  de  nex' 
day  Mr. was  sent  off.     G-od  did  it,  I  know. 

"  I  always  shall  believe  dat  Mr. was  one  sent  to 

'  seek  out.'*  He  was  not  fightin'  wid  our  people,  who 
was  so  kind  to  him."f 

My  father  had  been  troubled  by  the  conflicting  duties 
to  his  children  and  to  his  servants. 

When  he  heard  that  mammy's  last  good  boy,  Major, 
had  run  away  to  escape  being  killed  by  these  men,  he 
said,  "  Harriet,  I  ought  to  have  died  ten  years  ago." 

His  faithful  servant  burst  into  tears  at  these  words 
of  her  master. 


CHAPTEE  XX. 

THE   CROWN  OP  POVERTY. 

And  now  a  great  blow  fell  on  Thomas  Dabney. 
Shortly  before  the  war  he  had  been  asked  by  a  trusted 
friend  to  put  his  name  as  security  on  some  papers  for  a 
good  many3hxmjanj_jhiilara.  At  the  time  he  was.  as- 
sured  JjhiiLj^Jiis^Lame^vould  only  be_ wan texL  toJide.over 
a  crisis  of  two_  weeks.  aH3HSaE[he  would  never  hear  of 
the  papers  again.     It  was  a  trap  set,  and  his  unsuspi- 

*  A  spy.  -J-  His  entertainers  at  Burleigh. 


232     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

cious  nature  sawno  danj^er^and  he  put  his  name  to  the 
papers.  Loving. jt.his_m.an,  and  confiding  in  his  horror 
a'S"_if  a  sonjs,  he  thought  no  more  of  the  transaction. 

Xt^7as_iipj^____a___ajitujnn  of  1866.  One  night  he 
waikj3djrpj____irsj_^^  were 

sit,tmgAyjth3_paper  in_Jxia_Jiajid.  "My  ehildren,"  he 
saiil7"nT"lim~a  ruined  man.  The  sheriff  is  down -stairs* 
He  has  served  this  writ  on  me.  IFTs~Tor_al5eTnrinty 
.debjj  1  dolhot  evenjrnow  how  mn.ny^nrfrgnrjrriiLppi's 
have  my  name  to  them."  His  face  was  white  as  he 
saTdTjt-hese  -  w-o*d  s .  He._was_  slxty^fixght-y  e«rrT -  "ef^-ag-e, 
with  a  lai'ge  and  helpless  family  on  his  hands,  and  the 
country  in  such  a  condition  that  young  men  scarcely 
knew  how  to  make  a  livelihood. 

The  sheriff  came  with  more  writs.  Thomas  roused 
himself  to  meet  them  all.  He  determined  to  pay  every 
dollar. 

But  to  do  this  he  must  have  time.  The  sale  of  every- 
thing that  he  owned  would  not  pay  all  these  claims. 
He  put  the  business  in  the  hands  of  his  lawyer,  Mr. 
John  Shelton,  of  Raymond,  who  was  also  his  intimate 
friend.  Mr.  Shelton  contested  the  claims,  and  this  de- 
layed things  till  Thomas  could  decide  on  some  way  of 
paj'ing  the  debts. 

A  gentleman  to  whom  he  owed  personalty  several 
thousand  dollars  courteously  forbore  to  send  in  his 
claim.  Thomas  was  determined  that  he  should  not  on 
this  account  fail  to  get  his  money,  and  wrote  urging 
him  to  bring  a  friendly  suit,  that,  if  the  worst  came,  he 
should  at  least  get  his  proportion.  Thus  urged,  the 
friendly  suit  was  brought,  the  man  deprecating  the 
proceeding,  as  looking  like  pressing  a  gentleman. 

And  now  the  judgments,  as  he  knew  they  would, 
went  against  him  one  by  one.  On  the  27th  of  Novem- 
der,  1866,  the  Burleigh  plantation  was  put  up  at  auction 
and  sold,  but  the  privilege  of  buying  it  in  a  certain 
time  reserved  to  Thomas.  At  this  time  incendiary  fires 
Avere  common.  There  was  not  much  law  in  the  land. 
We  heard  of  the  gin  houses  and  cotton-houses  that 
were  burned  in  all  directions.  One  day  as  Thomas 
came  back  from  a  business  journey  the  smouldering 


THE   CROWN  OF  POVERTY.  233 

ruins  of  his  gin-bouse  met  his  eye.  The  building  was 
itself  valuable  and  necessary.  All  the  cotton  that  he 
owned  was  consumed  in  it.  He  had  not  a  dollar.  He 
had  to  borrow  the  money  to  buy  a  postage  stamp,  not 
only  during  this  year,  but  during  many  years  to  come. 
It  was  a  time  of  deepest  gloom.  Thomas  had  been 
wounded  to  the  bottom  of  his  affectionate  heart  by  the 
perfidy  of  the  man  who  had  brought  this  on  his  house. 
In  the  midst  of  the  grinding  poverty  that  now  fell  in 
full  force  on  him,  he  heard  of  the  reckless  extravagance 
of  this  man  on  the  money  that  should  have  been  used 
to  meet  these  debts. 

Many  honorable  men  in  the  South  were  taking  the 
benefit  of  the  bankrupt  law.  Thomas's  relations  and 
friends  urged  him  to  take  the  law.  It  was  madness, 
they  said,  for  a  man  of  his  age,  in  the  condition  the 
country  was  then  in,  to  talk  of  settling  the  immense 
debts  that  were  against  him.  He  refused  with  scorn 
to  listen  to  such  proposals.  But  his  heart  was  well- 
nigh  broken.  He  called  his  children  around  him,  as  he 
lay  in  bed,  not  eating  and  scarcely  sleeping. 

"  My  children,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  have  nothing  to 
leave  you  but  a  fair  name.  But  you  may  depend  that 
I  shall  leave  you  that.  I  shall,  if  I  live,  pay  every 
dollar  that  I  owe.  If  I  die,  I  leave  these  debts  to  you 
to  discharge.  Do  not  let  my  name  be  dishonored. 
Some  men  would  kill  themselves  for  this.  I  shall  not 
do  that.     But  I  shall  die." 

The  grief  of  betrayed  trust  was  the  bitterest  drop 
in  his  cup  of  suffering.  But  he  soon  roused  himself 
from  this  depression  and  set  about  arranging  to  raise 
the  money  needed  to  buy  in  the  plantation.  It  could 
only  be  done  by  giving  up  all  the  money  brought  in  by 
the  cotton  crop  for  many  years.  This  meant  rigid  self- 
denial  for  himself  and  his  children.  He  could  not  bear 
the  thought  of  seeing  his  daughters  deprived  of  com- 
forts. He  was  ready  to  stand  unflinchingly  any  fate 
that  might  be  in  store  for  him.  But  his  tenderest  feel- 
ings were  stirred  for  them.  His  chivalrous  nature  had 
always  revolted  from  the  sight  of  a  woman  doing  hard 
work.     He  determined  to  spare  his  daughters  all  such 

20* 


234     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

labor  as  he  could  perform.  General  Sherman  had  said 
that  he  would  like  to  bring  every  Southern  woman  to 
the  wash-tub.*  "  He  shall  never  bring  ray  daughters 
to  the  wash-tub,"  Thomas  Dabney  said.  "  I  will  do  the 
washing  myself."  And  he  did  it  for  two  years.  He 
was  in  his  seventieth  year  when  he  began  to  do  it. 

This  may  give  some  idea  of  the  labors,  the  privations, 
the  hardships,  of  those  terrible  years.  The  most  inti- 
mate friends  of  Thomas,  nay,  his  own  children,  who 
were  not  in  the  daily  life  at  Burleigh,  have  never  known 
the  unprecedented  self-denial,  carried  to  the  extent  of 
acutest  bodily  sufferings,  which  he  practised  during  this 
time.  A  curtain  must  be  drawn  over  this  part  of  the 
life  of  my  lion-hearted  father ! 

"When  he  grew  white  and  thin,  and  his  frightened 
daughters  prepared  a  special  dish  for  him,  he  refused 
to  eat  the  delicacy.  It  would  choke  him,  he  said,  to 
eat  better  food  than  they  had,  and  he  yielded  only  to 
their  earnest  solicitations.  He  would  have  died  rather 
than  ask  for  it.  When  the  living  was  so  coarse  and  so 
ill-prepared  that  he  could  scarcely  eat  it,  he  never 
failed,  on  rising  from  the  table,  to  say  earnestly  and 
reverently,  as  he  stood  by  his  chair,  "  Thank  the  Lord 
for  this  much." 

During  a  period  of  eighteen  months  no  light  in  sum- 
mer, and  none  but  a  fire  in  winter,  except  in  some  case 
of  necessity,  was  seen  in  the  house.  He  was  fourteen 
years  in  paying  these  debts  that  fell  on  him  in  his  sixty- 
ninth  year.  He  lived  but  three  years  after  the  last 
dollar  Avas  paid. 

When  he  was  seventy  years  of  age  he  determined  to 
learn  to  cultivate  a  garden.  He  had  never  performed 
manual  labor,  but  he  now  applied  himself  to  learn  to 
hoe  as  a  means  of  supplying  his  family  with  vegetables. 
j  With  the  labor  of  those  aged  hands  he  made  a  garden 
that  was  the  best  ordered  that  we  had  ever  seen  at 
Burleigh.     He  made  his  garden,  as  he  did  everything 


*  Thomas  had  read  this  in  one  of  the  papers  published  during  the 
famous  march  to  the  sea.  Whether  General  Sherman  was  correctly  re- 
ported I  know  not. — S.  D.  S. 


THE   CROWN  OF  POVERTY.  235 

that  lie  undertook,  in  the  most  painstaking  manner, 
neglecting  nothing  that  could  insure  success.  The  beds 
and  rows  and  walks  in  that  garden  were  models  of  ex- 
actness and  neatness.  It  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
the  house  and  from  water,  on  the  top  of  a  long,  high 
hill,  and  three-quarters  of  an  acre  in  extent.  In  a  time 
of  drought,  or  if  he  had  set  out  anything  that  needed  i, 
watering,  he  toiled  up  that  long  precipitous  hill  with 
bucket  after  bucket  of  water.  "  I  never  look  at  the 
clouds"  had  been  a  saying  of  his  in  cultivating  his 
plantation,  and  he  carried  it  out  now.  That  garden 
supplied  the  daily  food  of  his  family  nearly  all  the  ye&v 
round.  He  planted  vegetables  in  such  quantities  that  it 
was  impossible  to  consume  all  on  the  table,  and  he  sold 
barrels  of  vegetables  of  different  kinds  in  New  Orleans. 

Oftentimes  he  was  so  exhausted  when  he  came  in  to 
dinner  that  he  could  not  eat  for  a  while.  He  had  his 
old  bright  way  of  making  every  one  take  an  interest 
in  his  pursuits, — sympathy  was  as  necessary  and  sweet 
to  him  as  to  a  child, — and  he  showed  with  pride  what 
he  had  done  by  his  personal  labor  in  gai'dening  and  in 
washing.  He  placed  the  clothes  on  the  line  as  care- 
fully as  if  they  were  meant  to  hang  there  always,  and 
they  must  be  admired,  too !  He  said,  and  truly,  that  he 
had  never  seen  snowier  ones. 

Oh,  thou  heroic  old  man !  Thou  hast  a  right  to  thy 
pride  in  those  exact  strokes  of  the  hoe  and  in  those 
superb  potatoes,  "  the  best  ever  seen  in  the  JSTew  Oi*- 
leans  market,"  and  in  those  long  lines  of  snowy  dra- 
pery !  But  those  to  whom  thou  art  showing  these 
things  are  looking  beyond  them,  at  the  man !  They 
are  gazing  reverently,  and  with  scarce  suppressed  tears, 
on  the  hands  that  have  been  in  this  world  for  three- 
score and  ten  yeai's,  and  are  beginning  to-day  to  sup- 
port a  houseful  of  children  ! 

At  the  end  of  the  hard  day's  work  he  would  say, 
sometimes,  "General  Sherman  has  not  brought  my 
daughters  to  the  wash-tub.     I  could  not  stand  that." 

General  Sherman's  words  were  as  a  cruel  spur  in  the 
side  of  a  noble  steed  that  needed  no  spur,  and  was 
already  running  beyond  his  strength. 


236      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

He  urged  some  of  his  old  friends  to  follow  his  exam- 
ple, and  was  quite  disgusted  at  the  answer  of  one,  that 
he  had  no  "  turn"  for  working  in  a  garden.  "  No  turn  !" 
lie  repeated,  indignantly,  in  speaking  of  it  to  his  chil- 
dren. "  I  hear  that  he  allows  the  ladies  to  do  all  this 
work.  I  wonder  what  turn  for  it  they  have  !  I  have 
no  toleration  for  such  big  Indian  talk." 

His  hands  were  much  bent  with  age  and  gout.  No 
glove  could  be  drawn  over  them.  They  had  been  so 
soft  that  a  bridle-rein,  unless  he  had  his  gloves  on, 
chafed  them  unpleasantly.  He  expressed  thankfulness 
that  the  bent  fingers  and  palms  did  not  interfere  with 
his  holding  either  his  hoe-handle  or  his  pen.  He  wrT)te 
as  many  letters  as  ever,  and  an  article  for  a  State  news- 
paper or  a  Virginia  or  New  Orleans  paper  occasionally, 
if  intei*ested  in  anything  that  was  going  on.  But  he 
said  that  politics  were  getting  to  the  state  that  only 
disgusted  him,  and  he  took  no  active  part  or  interest 
even  in  State  government  till  he  saw  a  hope  of  throw- 
ing off  "  carpet-bag"  rule.  When  he  spoke  of  the  ex- 
pense of  the  postage  on  his  correspondence,  he  said  that 
he  could  not  maintain  himself  in  his  station  if  he  wrote 
fewer  letters. 

He  tried  hard  to  learn  to  plough,  but  he  could  not 
do  it.  It  was  a  real  disappointment.  He  tried  to  learn 
to  cut  wood,  but  complained  that  he  could  not  strike 
twice  in  the  same  spot.  It  was  with  great  labor  that 
he  got  a  stick  cut  in  two.  His  failure  in  this  filled  him 
with  a  dogged  determination  to  succeed,  and  he  per- 
sisted in  cutting  wood  in  the  most  painful  manner,  often 
till  he  was  exhausted.  Some  one  told  him  of  a  hand- 
saw for  sawing  wood,  and  he  was  delighted  and  felt 
independent  when  he  got  one.  He  enjoyed  it  like  a 
new  toy,  it  was  so  much  better  in  his  hands  than  the 
axe.  He  sawed  wood  by  the  hour  in  the  cold  and  in 
the  heat.  It  seemed  to  be  his  rule  never  to  stop  any 
work  till  he  was  exhausted. 

His  son  Edward  lived  with  him  during  these  years. 
He  tried  to  lessen  his  father's  labors.  But  Thomas 
Dabney  was  not  a  man  to  sit  down  while  his  children 
worked.     Besides,  there  was  work  enough  for  these 


THE   CROWN  OF  POVERTY.  237 

two  men,  and  more  than  enough.  The  arrangement 
of  both  house  and  plantation  had  been  planned  to  em- 
ploy manjr  servants,  as  was  the  custom  in  the  South. 
Everything  was  at  a  long  distance  from  everything 
else.  As  time  went  on,  an  effort  was  made  to  concen- 
trate things.  But,  without  money,  it  was  impossible 
to  arrange  the  place  like  a  Northern  farm,  with  every 
convenience  near  at  hand. 

One  fall,  in  putting  down  the  dining-room  carpet, 
Thomas  heard  his  daughter  say  that  she  meant  to  turn 
the  carpet,  because  it  looked  new  on  the  other  side. 

"  Do  not  turn  it,  then,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  wish  any 
one  to  suppose  that  I  would  buy  a  new  carpet,  owing 
money  as  I  do." 

In  these  years  he  was  preparing  once  for  a  business 
visit  to  New  Orleans.  His  daughter  asked  him  to  buy 
a  new  suit,  as  he  spoke  of  calling  on  his  friends  in  the 
city. 

"No,"  he  answered  ;  "I  should  be  ashamed  to  wear 
new  clothes.  What  hope  would  my  creditors  have  of 
ever  getting  their  money  if  they  saw  me  in  New  Or- 
leans in  new  clothes  ?  No  ;  I  am  going  in  this  suit  that 
you  say  looks  so  shabby  and  faded.  I  shall  call  on  all 
my  creditors  in  this  suit.  I  have  not  a  dollar  to  take 
to  them,  but  I  shall  let  them  see  that  I  am  not  shun- 
ning them  for  that.  I  shall  show  myself  to  them,  and 
tell  them  that  I  am  doing  my  very  best  to  pay  them, 
and  that  they  shall  have  every  dollar  if  they  will  have 
patience.  You  see,  my  child,  this  is  the  only  assurance 
I  can  give  them  that  I  mean  to  pay  them.  Now,  could 
I  expect  to  be  believed  if  I  were  handsomely  dressed  ?" 

His  mei'chants,  Giquel  &  Jamison,  were  among  the 
creditors  whom  he  saw  during  this  visit.  They  in- 
formed him  that  all  their  books  had  been  burned  during 
the  war,  and  that  they  had  no  bill  against  him.  They 
said  also  that  they  had  accounts  amounting  to  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  set  down  in  those 
books,  and  that  he  was  the  only  man  who  had  come 
forward  to  pay  them.  He  was  not  to  be  turned  from 
paying  his  debt. 

An  humble  neighbor  had  said  years  ago  that  he  hated 


238     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

Colonel  Dabney  because  be  acted  as  if  be  considered 
himself  a  prince.  In  tbese  later  days  be  admired  Tbomas 
as  mucb  as  be  bad  before  disliked  him.  "  I  thougbt  hira 
a  haughty  man  because  be  was  ricb ;  now  I  see  tbat 
be  is  the  same  man  poor  tbat  be  was  ricb.  JS"ow  I 
know  tbat  he  is  a  prince." 

One  of  his  daughters  had  occasion  to  offer  a  draft  of 
his  to  an  ignorant  man  in  a  distant  county  of  Missis- 
sippi. She  felt  a  natural  diffidence,  as  she  was  not  sui'e 
that  it  would  be  accepted  in  payment  of  her  indebted- 
ness. She  asked  the  man  if  he  had  ever  heard  of 
Thomas  Dabney. 

"  Heard  of  him  ?"  be  said.  "  Every  letter  in  his  name 
is  pure  gold.  I  would  as  soon  have  that  draft  as  the 
gold  in  my  hand." 

Seeing  one  of  his  daughters  look  sad  and  quiet, 
Thomas  said  to  her,  "  My  child,  it  seems  to  me  that 
you  look  coldly  on  me.  I  cannot  bear  tbat.  You  are 
the  very  core  of  my  heart.  If  I  have  done  anything 
that  you  do  not  like,  tell  me." 

Oh,  what  heart  would  not  bound  out  to  the  father 
who  could  say  that  to  his  own  child  ! 

And  the  tender,  satisfied  look  when  he  was  embraced 
and  kissed,  and  the  real  trouble  confided  to  bis  sympa- 
thizing bosom! 

His  cousins  in  New  York,  Augustine  and  Mary  Smith, 
the  children  of  his  uncle,  endeavored  to  help  Thomas 
at  this  time,  and  sent  a  large  check  to  bim.  This  he 
promptly  returned,  but  when  their  kindness  was  offered 
to  his  children  be  could  not  wish  to  see  it  refused  ;  and 
the  first  gleam  of  light  and  hope  came  to  the  family 
when  these  generous  kinspeople  gave  them  substantial 
aid. 

The  following  letter  is  from  one  who  visited  Burleigh 
many  times,  our  friend,  Miss  Marianne  P.  Eggleston  : 

"  New  Orleans. 

"  My  first  recollection  is  of  a  figure  firmly  knit  and 

erect,  with  white  hair  and  smooth-shaven  chin,  always 

clad  in  a  suit  of  dark  blue  cloth,  with  brass  buttons  on 

the  dress  coat.     Hiding  back  and  forth  twice  a  day  over 


THE   CROWN  OF  POVERTY.  239 

the  sawdust-covered  road,  and  both  horse  and  rider 
thrown  out  in  bold  relief  by  a  background  of  dancing 
blue  water.  The  dress  has  a  suspicion  of  the  military 
about  it,  while  the  '  speech'  as  plainly  '  bewrayeth'  the 
Virginian.  As  a  child,  I  was  rather  awed  by  the  de- 
cided manner  and  tones,  and  the  eyes  flashing  so 
brightly  under  the  bushy  brows.  He  seemed  a  man 
full  of  chivalry  and  action,  to  whom  one,  especially  a 
woman,  might  turn  for  protection  always,  and  for  help 
in  a  real  trouble,  sooner  than  for  sympathy  in  a  small 
one.  I  wonder  if  the  tenderness  of  after-years  was 
latent  there  then,  or  if  it  only  came  with  the  need  for 
it !     Surely  it  was  deep  enough. 

"  The  old  house  on  the  lake-shore  seems  to  come  back 
before  my  eyes  again  as  it  was,  and  I  stand  once  more 
among  the  people  who  filled  it  thirty-five  years  ago. 
Many  have  fallen  asleep,  and  those  whose  forms  are 
still  with  us  are  as  utterly  changed  to  our  eyes  as  if  the 
grave  had  closed  over  those  we  then  knew.  There  were 
but  vague  impressions  of  character  made  then ;  they 
are  mostly  recollections  of  form  and  color,  and  prom- 
inent among  these  is  the  dear  old  red  silk  handkerchief. 

"Later  on  come  recollections  of  Burleigh,  and  much 
better  defined  impressions  of  its  master.  How  well  I 
remember  the  clay  I  saw  it  for  the  first  time ! 

"  After  dinner  we  walked  (or  stood)  in  that  little 
garden  of  pinks  you  had  in  the  front  yard,  near  the 
'  big  gate.'  There  your  father  joined  us,  and  standing 
outside,  leaning  on  the  low  fence,  he  told  us  of  an  arti- 
cle he  had  read  on  the  'Genius  of  Shakespeare.'  The 
author  regarded  the  '  Tempest'  as  Shakespeare's  greatest 
work,  and  Caliban  as  his  most  perfect  creation  of  fancy. 
'  I  cannot  agree  with  him  about  the  "  Tempest," '  he  said, 
'  but  he  may  be  right  about  Caliban.'  As  we  returned 
to  the  house,  we  all  stopped  under  the  mimosa-tree, 
where  a  table  was  placed,  and  your  father  presided  over 
an  immense  waiter  of  cantaloupes.  I  remember  how  he 
put  back  his  cuffs  and  flourished  his  knife.  I  so  often 
recall  the  Burleigh  of  those  days, — the  ready  and'appa- 
rently  boundless  hospitality,  the  abundant  supply  of 
all  the  necessaries  of  life  (and  much  of  what  we  call 


240     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

the  luxuries  now),  the  fruit  in  summer,  the  roaring 
fires  and  the  '  hog-killings'  in  winter,  and  those  deli- 
cious sweet  potatoes  1 

"  I  remember  how  often  we  danced  in  the  hall  in 
summer,  but  I  have  no  recollection  of  any  music.  We 
must  have  needed  some.  Your  father  was  alwa}^s  ready- 
to  take  his  place  with  us,  and  I  can  see  him  now  as  he 
walked  around  the  card-table,  looking  into  the  hand  of 
each  one,  drawing  his  red  silk  handkerchief  through 
his  fingers  as  a  bad  play  was  made,  regarding  it  as  a 
serious  business,  and  being  by  far  too  honorable  to 
'  tell.'  He  never  seemed  to  think  we  were  doing  it 
for  fun,  and  enjoyed  a  bad  play  as  much  as  a  good 
one.* 

"  The  first  time  I  saw  the  white  beard  was  on  the 
day  of  the  memorable  barbecue  at  Terry.  I  recall  so 
well  your  father's  appearance  that  day,  as  he  took  his 
place  on  the  stand  among  the  Democrats.  His  bearing 
was  a  compromise  between  the  respect  he  felt  for  '  these 
gentlemen'  individually,  and  a  protest  against  that  vile 
thing  known  as  Democracy.  The  red  silk  handkerchief 
was  often  brought  into  requisition  that  day,  like  a  Whig 
banner  flaunted  in  the  face  of  Democracy , — as  if  to  say, 
'  We  two  old  Whigs  are  as  stanch  and  true  as  ever, 
although  we  allow  you  Democrats  to  approach  us  to- 
day on  terms  of  familiarity.  We  make  no  concession, 
nor  do  we  propose  to  make  any.' 

"You  remember  the  introductions  we  had  to  pass 
through  ?  A  group  of  us  (myself  included)  would  be 
presented  as  '  my  daughters ;'  then,  out  would  spring 
the  old  '  bandanna,'  and  after  a  clearing  of  his  throat, 
he  would   give  a  little  sketch  of   each,   as  we   were 

*  "  I  should  not  have  said  that  everybody  laughed,  for  my  grandfather 
did  not  even  smile.  .  .  .  He  was  totally  absorbed  in  contemplation  of  the 
enormity  of  playing  out  one's  ace  of  trumps  second  in  hand.  And  that 
Charley, — Charley,  whom  he  had  trained  from  a  boy  to  the  rigor  of  the 
game  according  to  Hoyle, — that  he  should  seem  to  defend  such — so — so 
horrible  a  solecism  !  It  was  too  much.  He  was  a  picture  to  look  at,  as 
he  stood  erect,  the  nostrils  of  his  patrician  nose  dilated  with  a  noble  in- 
dignation, his  snowy  hair  contrasting  with  his  dark  and  glowing  eyes, 
that  swept  from  group  to  group  of  mirthful  faces,  and  back  again,  sternly 
wondering  at  their  untimely  merriment." — JDon  Miff,  page  239. 


THE  CROWN  OF  POVERTY.  241 

brought  to  the  front  in  rotation.     It  was  as  good  as  a 
tooth-drawing ! 

"  I  can  recall  so  many  movements  and  gestures, — that 
way  he  had  of  throwing  his  leg  out, — I  often  try  to  do 
that,  but  have  never  succeeded  to  my  satisfaction.  I 
think  it  must  be  some  '  Old-Line  Whig'  sign,  and  no 
one  but  one  of  them  can  achieve  it. 

"  This  is  the  bright  side  of  the  picture,  and  I  turn  with 
reluctance  to  the  other,  the  one  which  looks  like  a  dark 
one,  but  is  far  more  beautiful  than  the  former,  and  is 
bright  with  an  inner  radiance  which  is  not  seen  in  the 
earlier  time. 

"My  first  visit  to  Burleigh  after  the  war  seemed  like 
an  evil  dream.  The  old  nursery,  where  the  long  line 
of  '  knitters'  were  ranged  on  rainy  days,  is  a  kitchen 
now  with  all  the  necessary  appointments ;  the  well- 
furnished  apartments  look  almost  bare  now ;  not  a  ser- 
vant appears  about  the  premises.  I  find  the  same  warm 
greeting,  but  the  hands  extended  to  welcome  me  are  no 
longer  the  soft  ones  of  a  gentleman.  Instead  of  them  I 
seem  to  grasp  the  toil-hardened  ones  of  a  laboring  man, 
and  such  they  are.  The  man  born  and  bred  in  all  the 
comfort  of  a  Virginia  home,  in  manhood  saying  to  his 
servant  'do  this,  and  he  doeth  it,'  has  in  advancing  years 
found  himself  bereft  of  the  faithful  wife  who  for  so  many 
years  shared  his  life,  and  deprived  of  nearly  all  his  pos- 
sessions. How  does  he  bear  himself  now?  The  time 
formerly  devoted  to  the  care  of  his  estate,  to  the  exer- 
cise of  hospitality,  to  enjoyment,  is  now  given  to  man- 
ual labor.  A  few  faithful  servants  still  linger  around 
the  old  home  and  cling  to  '  ole  marster ;'  but  times  are 
changed  with  them  too,  and  they  must  toil  for  their  daily 
bread,  formerly  dealt  out  to  them  without  stint  from 
'  ole  marster's'  table.  So  I  see  that  dear  '  ole  marster' 
cutting  with  his  own  hands  the  wood  for  the  fires,  toil- 
ing with  it  up  the  long  flight  of  stairs,  making  fires,  doing 
the  family  washing,  and  after  a  hard  day's  work,  seeing 
you  make  the  starch  over  the  dining-room  fire  he  said, 
so  regretfully,  '  I  wish  I  could  make  the  starch  too.'  I 
recall  how  he  insisted  on  washing  my  clothes  also,  and 
how  I  let  him  believe  he  was  doing  it. 
l        q  21 


242     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

"  Not  a  word  of  complaint  was  heard,  no  matter  how 
coarse  the  fare  was ;  if  he  could  eat  it,  he  did  so.  I 
remember  once  he  handed  his  cup  for  tea  the  second 
time,  sajnng  to  me  as  I  passed  it,  'With  some  people 
it  is  an  evidence  that  the  tea  is  good  when  they  take  a 
second  cup,  but  with  me  it  is  the  reverse.  I  must  have 
a  certain  quantity  of  tea,  no  matter  how  much  water 
I  drink  to  get  it.'  Late  one  cold  evening  we  heard  a 
tramping  of  many  feet  as  we  sat  ai'ound  the  dining- 
room  fire.  Soon  the  door  to  the  kitchen  opened  wide, 
and  your  father  ushered  in  as  many  as  five  forlorn- 
looking  females  in  thin  calico  dresses  and  long  sun- 
honnets,  some  with  babies  in  their  arms.  I  can  see 
him  now,  seating  them  as  if  they  had  been  the  great- 
est ladies  in  the  land,  and  telling  them  to  stay  there 
until  the  fires  were  made  in  the  cabins  he  had  given 
them  permission  to  occupy  for  the  night.  I  suspect 
each  one  had  a  beating  from  her  husband  that  night 
because  she  did  not  make  a  fire  for  bim. 

"When  the  old  place  was  deserted,  and  your  father 
came  down  here  for  the  winter,  I  took  the  same  train 
at  Brookhaven.  He  was  quite  sick  all  day  and  seemed 
pleased  to  have  me  near  him.  I  saw  him  frequently 
during  the  winter  at  Tom's  and  at  Emmy's  rooms ; 
and  no  matter  where  I  was,  he  never  thought  it  too 
much  trouble  to  find  me.  It  is  very  gratifying  that 
one  you  love  and  revere  should  feel  confidence  in  your 
affection  and  value  it.  So,  I  am  confident,  he  felt  to- 
wards me.  When  I  went  to  bid  him  good-by  I  found 
him  out  and  waited  for  him.  I  can  see  now  the  smile 
on  his  face  when  he  came  in.  He  insisted  on  seeing 
me  down-stairs,  but  I  succeeded  in  effecting  a  compro- 
mise, and  we  parted  at  the  landing.  He  said  good-by 
and  kissed  me  as  if  he  thought  it  was  for  the  last  time, 
then  took  my  hand  again  and  said,  earnestly,  '  G-od 
bless  you.'  I  love  to  remember  that  when  his  voice 
fell  on  my  ear  for  the  last  time,  it  was  to  call  down  a 
blessing  on  my  head." 

In  the  changed  circumstances  of  the  family  it  was 
impossible   to   attend   the   services   at   the    Raymond 


THE   CROWN  OF  POVERTY.  243 

church.  The  deprivation  of  a  parish  chm*ch  was 
much  felt,  and  it  was  resolved  by  Emmy  Dabney  to 
try  to  build  a  church  nearer  to  Burleigh.  She  begged 
her  father  to  allow  her  to  go  out  as  a  governess  that  V 
she  might  use  the  money  made  in  this  way  to  build  a 
simple  wooden  church.  He  gave  a  reluctant  consent, 
as  he  disliked  to  see  women  work.  The  year's  sal- 
ary was  insufficient  for  the  purpose,  and  very  little 
was  contributed  in  the  neighborhood.  There  was  but 
one  communicant  outside  of  the  Burleigh  house, — the 
country  people  who  cared  for  religion  belonged  to  other 
religious  bodies.  All  the  sisters  and  a  family  of  cousins 
went  to  work  with  their  needles  to  make  up  the  de- 
ficiency in  funds.  Although  they  made  a  great  deal  in 
this  way  the  desired  end  seemed  a  long  way  off,  and 
they  set  to  work  to  make  appeals  to  the  church  people 
of  the  North,  asking  for  one  dollar  from  each  one. 
A  generous  response  came  at  once  ;  money  came  by 
dollars  and  hundreds  of  dollars.  In  a  short  time,  in- 
stead of  the  one  thousand  dollars  that  was  asked  for, 
about  five  thousand  had  been  received.  The  letters  that 
came  were  as  much  prized  as  the  money.  Of  the  many 
hundreds  received  but  one  was  unkind  in  its  tone,  and 
a  few  months  later  the  writer  of  that  letter  sent  a  large 
sum  of  money,  accompanied  by  words  of  Christian 
sympathy.  Our  father  had  never  felt  other  than 
kindly  towards  the  North.  His  long  residence  in  New 
York  as  a  child,  and  his  broad  sympathies  with  them 
as  a  part  of  the  nation,  had  made  him,  as  already  stated, 
a  stanch  Union  man  as  long  as  there  seemed  to  be 
any  hope  of  keeping  the  Union  unbroken.  He  enjoyed 
these  overflowing  Christian  letters  with  his  children. 
Warm  friendships  were  formed  with  some  of  the  writers, 
and  were  among  the  most  lasting  and  prized  of  our 
lives.  The  large  amount  of  money  received  enabled 
us  not  only  to  complete  the  little  church,  but  to  pur- 
chase a  glebe  and  rectory.  The  work  connected  with 
this  church  and  Sunday-school  became  a  part  of  the 
life  at  Burleigrh. 


244     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 


\jP 


oT 


CHAPTEE  XXI. 

THE   CROWNING   BETESSINQ. 


TTTF^nTvvroj^ing  blessing  o£  ^"^  livp.a  nmnfi^in  these 
davs  of"~poverty  and  toil  T h e_belo y ed _h _e^fiLxilLthe~ 
house_took  his  baptismal  vows  on  himself,  and  became 
a  regul.ar-CDianuin i caaLi]iJih^_c^urcF  His  daughters 
had"  come  to  him  one  night  as  he  sat  on  the  porch, 
talkingwith  Edward,  and  had  urged  him  to  be  confirmed. 
They  told  him  that  they  were  unworthy  of  the  name 
of  Christians,  and  felt  especially  in  approaching  him 
how  unworthy  they  were.  But  the  Saviour's  com- 
mand was  explicit.  He  called  the  sinners  and  not  the 
righteous.  He  ought  to  obey  that  loving  call  and  not 
wait  to  feel  worthy.  The  day  would  never  come  when 
he  would  feel  so.  "  Oh,  papa,  how  can  one  go  to  heaven 
who  does  not  obey  Him  ?  Even  earthly  parents  re- 
quire obedience.  And  what  would  heaven  be  without 
you  !     Oh,  let  us  all  try  to  go  there  together !" 

With  tears  and  kisses  and  every  endearing  epithet, 
and  with  arms  around  his  neck,  they  hung  about  him. 
He  was  completely  overcome.  He  seemed  scarcely 
able  to  control  his  voice  as  he  said,  "  My  children,  you 
are  right.  I  see  the  justice  of  what  you  say.  I  will 
be  confirmed  when  the  bishop  comes.  But  you  came 
near  killing  your  father.  I  thought  that  you  had  killed 
me.  My  heart  stopped  beating  when  you  said  all  those 
sweet  things  to  me.  I  do  not  deserve  all  those  good 
thing's  that  you  believe  of  me." 

His  son  Thomas  knelt  by  his  side  and  was  con- 
firmed with  him  in  St.  Mark's  Church,  Baymond,  when 
the  bishop  came.  Bishop  Green  was  a  child  of  the 
same  year  as  our  father,  and  but  four  months  younger 
than  himself.  As  he  placed  his  hands  on  the  venerable 
head  bent  before  him,  and  bent  his  own  snowy  one 
over  it,  he  was  visibly  affected,  and  many  tears  fell  in 
the  church.     It  was  said  that  there  was  not  a  dry  eye 


THE   CROWNING  BLESSING.  245 

that  night  that  looked  upon  that  scene.  The  class 
that  went  up  for  confirmation  was  larger  than  had 
been  expected.  It  was  said  that  when  Thomas  Dab- 
ney  walked  up  the  aisle  several  persons  who  before  had 
been  undecided  now  rose  and  went  forward  as  candi- 
dates for  confirmation. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  all  the  people  who  call  themselves 
Christians,"  a  plain  neighbor  said,  in  talking  of  this 
step  of  Thomas,  "  but  1  believe  in  Colonel  Dabney's 
Christianity.     lie  is  no  hypocrite." 

Awhile  after  this  he  began  to  ask  a  blessing  at  his 
own  table,  and  gradually  he  grew  into  asking  a  bless- 
ing at  the  tables  of  his  friends,  unless  a  clergyman 
was  present.  But  he  never  led  the  family  prayers.  "  I 
want  you  to  do  that,"  he  said  to  a  daughter.  Among 
the  letters  that  he  valued  I  find  one  received  about 
this  time  from  a  young  girl,  one  of  his  servants  whom 
he  had  placed  in  Montgomery. 

"Montgomery,  February  10,  1S67. 

"  My  dear  Old  Master, — I  am  anxious  to  see  you 
and  my  young  masters  and  mistresses.  I  often  think 
of  you,  and  remember  with  pleasure  how  kind  you  all 
ever  were  to  me.  Though  freedom  has  been  given  to 
the  colored  race,  I  often  sigh  for  the  good  old  days  of 
slave-times,  when  we  were  all  so  happy  and  contented. 
...  I  am  tolerably  pleasantly  situated.  I  am  hired  to 
a  Mr.  Sanderson,  who  treats  me  very  well.  I  am  very 
well,  and  hope  I  may  have  an  opportunity  of  coming 
to  see  you  all  next  Christmas.  I  am  still  single  and 
don't  think  much  about  beaux.  I  don't  think  the  men 
in  these  days  of  freedom  are  of  much  account.  If  I 
could  find  one  whom  I  think  a  real  good  man,  and  who 
would  take  good  care  of  me,  I  would  get  married. 
Please,  dear  old  master,  ask  some  of  my  young  mis- 
tresses to  write  to  me. 

"  My  kind  and  respectful  remembrances  to  all. 
"  Your  former  servant  and  friend, 

"  Alice  Dabney." 

This  letter  was  written  with  Alice's  own  hand. 
21* 


246      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

His  former  servants  showed  affectionate  attentions  to 
him,  and  they  were  deeply  appreciated.  G-eorge  Page 
sent  all  his  best  fruits  and  vegetables  to  his  master's 
table,  especially  those  that  were  rare  and  difficult  to 
cultivate.  When  George's  girl  brought  over  a  bucket 
of  strawberries  one  year,  the  daughter  who  received 
them  asked  casually  if  she  had  been  enjoying  the 
strawberries  that  spring. 

"  No,  marm,  I  ain't  tase  one,"  the  child  answered. 
"  Daddy  say  dat  we  sharn't  tase  one  'twell  ole  marster 
hab  de  fust  dish,  an'  dese  is  de  fust." 

Sometimes  a  fat  gobbler,  the  finest  of  the  flock, 
would  be  sent  over  for  the  master's  Christmas  dinner 
by  Mammy  Harriet.  George's  wife  or  children,  who 
were  sent  with  his  offerings,  had  strict  orders  from 
him,  which  they  did  not  dare  disobey,  to  receive  noth- 
ing in  return.  "  Law,  missis,"  his  wife  would  say,  "  I 
'feared  to  take  anything  back.  George  would  run  me 
out  in  de  woods.  Yes,  marm,  to  be  sho'  I  want  de 
things,  but  I  darsen't  take  'em." 

Finally  we  hit  upon  the  plan  of  sending  an  express- 
messenger  to  George's  house  with  such  things  as  we 
had  to  bestow.  He  was  by  no  means  pleased  at  this 
turn  of  affairs,  but  saw  no  way  of  evading  it.  He 
had  to  be  consoled  with  the  assurance  that  our  presents 
were  for  Susan,  and  not  for  him. 

When  George  himself  brought  his  gifts,  he  would 
try  to  drop  them  in  the  kitchen  without  being  seen, 
and  when  discovered,  his  manner  was  as  deprecatory 
as  though  he  were  serving  an  Eastern  despot.  As  a 
slave  his  beai"ing  was  independent.  He  often  thought 
his  opinions  worth  more  than  any  one's  whom  he  knew, 
and  he  constantly  gave  advice  to  his  owners,  not  being 
discouraged  by  their  neither  asking  nor  adopting  it. 
But,  from  the  day  that  he  saw  them  reduced  to  poverty, 
he  strove  to  throw  into  his  carriage  all  the  deference 
that  could  be  expressed  in  one  human  body.  As  soon 
as  his  bag  of  melons,  peaches,  and  roasting  ears  was 
found,  he  would  be  seized  with  regret  at  having  brought 
them. 

"  Don't  look  at  dem  things,"  he  would  cry,  snatch- 


GEORGE      AND     SUSAN      F>AGE. 


THE   CROWNING  BLESSING.  247 

ing  the  bag,  that  we  might  not  see  the  contents.  "  I 
dunno  what  I  bring  'em  for.  Dey  ain't  fitten'  for 
marster  an'  my  young  ladies.  Here,  lemme  throw  'em 
'way.  Dey  ain't  fitten'  for  nothin'.  I  know  you  got 
plenty  of  them." 

He  always  brought  things  that  he  knew  we  did  not 
have,  but  this  feigned  belief  that  his  master  was  as 
well  off  as  ever  was  soothing  to  George's  pride. 

In  proportion  as  he  reverenced  his  master  he  felt 
himself  superior  to  the  white  people  of  the  plainer 
sort.  This  was  in  right  of  his  having  been  brought 
up  by  "  one  o'  de  big  bloods,"  as  George  and  others  of 
this  aristocracy-loving  race  expressed  it. 

One  day  papa  sent  a  note  by  George  to  one  of  the 
neighbors.  The  man  could  not  read  it,  and  said  some- 
thing about  the  handwriting  being  hard  to  read. 
George's  ire  was  fired  by  this  implied  imputation  on 
his  master's  penmanship. 

"My  marster's  handwritin'  hard,  sir?"  he  asked. 
"  My  marster  has  de  educationcy,  sir.  It  is  you  who  do 
not  know  how  to  read,  sir." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  George  became  unpopular 
with  those  who  could  not  see  beyond  the  surface,  and 
recognize  the  proud,  loyal  heart  under  this  bluster. 
In  these  days  of  poverty  our  Caleb  Osbaldistone  felt 
himself  called  on  to  maintain  the  family  honor  and 
dignity.  He  delighted  in  relating  to  strangers,  who 
had  not  visited  Burleigh  in  former  years,  marvellous 
stories  of  the  champagne  that  he  used  to  have  from 
the  dinner-table  every  day,  throwing  in  such  other 
adjuncts  as  seemed  to  him  in  keeping  with  this  style 
from  that  inexhaustible  storehouse,  his  fancy. 

One  Christmas,  one  of  the  white  family  sent  a  little 
money  to  George  and  his  wife.  "  What  de  debble  do 
I  want  wid  money  ?"  he  cried,  as  he  threw  it  on  a 
shelf  away  from  him. 

Susan  kissed  hers  and  shed  tears  over  it. 

They  had  been  free  for  twenty  years,  and  after  their 
crop  was  sold  but  twenty  dollars  had  come  to  them. 

Thomas  exercised  a  protecting  cai'e  over  the  negro 
tenants,  his  own  old  servants  and  others,  long  after 


248     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

they  were  free.  It  seemed  instinctive  with  him.  One 
dark  night  one  of  the  tenants  came  over  and  begged 
him  to  go  to  the  quarters  to  drive  off  some  men,  who 
were,  he  said,  frightening  the  negroes.  As  our  father 
was  upwards  of  seventy  yeai*s  of  age,  and  as  we  were 
not  sure  that  in  these  lawless  times  personal  harm  was 
not  meant  to  him  in  this  affair,  we  entreated  him  not 
to  go.  The  quarters  were  from  a  quarter-  to  a  half- 
mile  off,  and  half  the  way  was  up  a  precipitous  hill. 
But  he  seemed  scarcely  to  hear  our  remonstrances, 
and  went  in  all  haste  to  find  out  what  was  the  matter. 
Everything  was  quiet  when  he  got  there,  and  he  re- 
ceived no  connected  account  of  the  disturbance. 

In  the  spring  of  1868  Thomas  had  the  great  pleasure 
of  a  visit  from  Dr.  Thomas  Cooke,  who  had  been  his 
ward  in  early  Gloucester  days.  Dr.  Cooke's  eldest  son, 
Thomas  Dabney  Cooke,  had  spent  a  year  at  Burleigh 
in  boyhood,  and  his  father  had  long  intended  to  bring 
some  of  his  daughters  to  see  his  old  friend.  But  time 
had  slipped  away,  and  still  he  had  never  felt  that  he 
could  afford  the  journey.  This  spring  he  resolved  to 
delay  no  longer.  He  was  afraid,  he  said,  that  he  might 
die  without  having  brought  his  family  to  see  the  dear- 
est friend  of  his  life,  and  he  came  with  three  of  his 
daughters.  This  visit  was  made  at  a  time  of  the 
greatest  poverty  in  the  Burleigh  house.  A  beautiful 
little  incident  that  took  place  will  show  the  courtly 
polish  of  this  gentleman.  One  of  Thomas's  daughters 
was  about  to  go  to  the  wood-pile  to  get  some  chips  for 
the  fire.  Dr.  Cooke  offered  her  his  arm,  and  the  two 
proceeded  and  collected  the  chips  together  in  the  basket, 
and  came  back  in  the  same  formal  style.  He  felt  in- 
tuitively that  the  }7oung  lady  would  not  allow  a  vener- 
able guest  to  go  alone  to  perform  this  office,  and  his 
fine  breeding  showed  him  this  way  out  of  the  difficulty. 

In  the  fall  of  1869  Thomas  met  with  a  serious  pecu- 
niary loss.  A  negro  riot  took  place  in  the  height  of 
the  cotton-picking  season,  and  among  other  unhappy 
consequences  the  negroes  abandoned  the  fields  until 
the  cotton  had  been  spoiled  by  the  wind  and  rain. 
Neai'ly  the  whole  crop  was  lost.      The   seat  of  the 


THE   CROWNING   BLESSING.  249 

trouble  was  eighteen  miles  from  Burleigh,  but  it  was 
chosen  by  the  negroes  as  their  rendezvous.  We  knew 
nothing  of  the  trouble.  But  the  white  men  of  the 
neighborhood  heard  that  they  were  preparing  for  a 
fight,  and  about  fifty  of  them  marched  to  the  planta- 
tion to  meet  "the  negroes.  Wild  rumors  were  afloat, 
among  others,  that  not  a  "  white  face"  was  to  be  spared. 
Our  first  intimation  of  the  riot  was  to  hear  about  one 
hundred  rifles  go  off  in  the  park,  followed  by  loud  cries 
and  yells  and  battle  orders.  And  presently  a  riderless 
horse  or  two,  one  shot  through  the  body  and  dying, 
rushed  past  the  gate.  This  was  all.  After  that  one 
volley  the  negroes  fled.  The  carpet-bagger  who  had 
urged  them  to  this  riot  had  gotten  to  a  place  of  safety 
before  the  fight  came  off.  Pour  negroes  were  killed 
and  two  white  men  wounded.  About  fifty  negroes  had 
been  in  the  enga«;ement. 

DO 

Our  cook  clung  to  me  as  I  went  in  the  kitchen. 
"  Oh,  they  have  killed  Bobert !  Oh,  he  say  all  de  time 
dat  he  warn't  goin'  to  hurt  his  white  people !  He  say 
all  de  time  dat  he  b'long  to  you." 

The  negro  men  on  the  plantation  disappeared,  as  has 
been  said,  and  did  not  come  back  for  weeks.  The 
women  came  to  the  house ;  the  hall  was  quite  full  of 
them,  and  we  could  not  persuade  them  to  go  home  all 
that  day.  Mammy  Maria  got  under  the  chair  on  which 
one  of  "her  white  children"  sat,  and  embraces  and 
pattings  on  the  back  and  all  the  affectionate  words 
that  could  be  thought  of  were  needed  to  get  her  up 
from  the  floor,  where  she  was  crying  bitterly.  All 
this  had  taken  place  just  as  we  were  about  to  go  in  to 
breakfast,  on  a  lovely  morning  in  October.  In  a  short 
time  a  body  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  men  from  Crystal 
Springs  rode  up.  They  had  ridden  from  there,  a  dis- 
tance of  sixteen  miles,  under  whip  and  spur,  and  were 
so  covered  with  dust  as  to  be  almost  unrecognizable. 

Our  cook  had  gone  to  her  dying  husband,  and  these 
men  had  had  no  breakfast.  Thomas  opened  the  store- 
room to  them ;  several  of  the  more  experienced  were 
soon  engaged  in  cooking  for  the  company.  For  a 
week  the  country  was  in  a  state  of  apprehension,  and 


250     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

patrols  were  out  and  guards  set  day  and  night.  The 
younger  men  were  needed  for  patrol  service,  and  only 
ou-r  father  and  a  delicate  young  visitor  were  left  to 
guard  the  Burleigh  house.  Papa  called  us  all  up,  and 
asked  if  we  were  willing  to  shoot  if  there  were  need. 
He  found  but  one  coward  among  his  daughters,  the 
writer  of  these  memorials.  The  others  were  willing  to 
receive  the  pistols  and  guns  which  he  handed  them. 
There  were  not  enough  for  all.  Sarah  kept  a  pot  of 
water  boiling  as  her  means  of  defence.  But  the 
negroes  were  scattered  in  every  direction  and  not 
thinking  of  another  outbreak. 

Papa  went  to  see  Robert,  and  was  disarmed  by  the 
poor  fellow's  sufferings  and  affectionate  greeting.  He 
assured  "  marster"  that  he  had  not  meant  to  hurt  him 
or  his  family.  He  only  wanted  to  kill  the  "poor  white 
trash"  who  insulted  his  race.  "  I  had  to  be  true  to  my 
color,  marster."  His  old  master  gave  him  such  comfort 
as  he  could,  telling  his  wife  how  to  allay  his  sufferings, 
and  promising  protection.  He  died  in  a  few  days. 
Robert's  wife  related  an  incident  that  took  place  on 
the  preceding  night,  at  the  drill,  before  the  battle.  A 
negro  from  a  distance  proposed  that  the  work  of  de- 
struction should  begin  by  burning  the  Burleigh  house. 
Two  brothers,  old  family  servants,  stepped  from  the 
ranks  and  said  that  would  have  to  be  done  over  their 
dead  bodies,  if  at  all. 

On  the  night  before  the  fight  a  strange  negro  had 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  stay  all  night,  and  offered  to 
work  Lelia's  flowers  if  she  would  let  him  stay.  He 
seemed  nervous  and  miserable,  and  Edward,  to  whom 
she  had  appealed  for  advice,  felt  sorry  for  the  man  and 
gave  the  desired  consent.  When  the  Crystal  Springs 
troops  arrived,  they  informed  the  family  that  the  chief 
agitator  among  the  negroes  had  been  harbored  b}T  them. 
He  was  running  from  a  riot  that  he  had  gotten  up 
under  the  direction  of  the  carpet-baggers,  and  in  which 
the  negroes  had  been  worsted,  of  course,  when  he  took 
refuge  with  us.  He  wished  to  be  found  among  us  when 
the  impending  fight  in  the  park  should  take  place.  The 
Crystal  Springs  men  were  for  making  an  example  of 


THE  CROWNING  BLESSING.  251 

him.  But  Edward  and  Lelia,  to  whom  the  poor  mis- 
guided fellow  clung,  saw  that  he  was  quite  conquered. 
They  interceded  for  him  and  he  was  not  molested. 
We  were  thankful  when  that  wretched  week  was  over. 

In  November  we  had  a  visit  from  the  saintly  Bishop 
Wilmer,  of  Louisiana.  "When  he  went  away  several 
of  the  ladies  of  the  house  accompanied  him  a  part  of 
the  way  in  the  carriage.  One  of  them,  in  the  hurry 
of  getting  off,  had  left  her  handkerchief  behind,  and 
Aunt  Abby,  who  discovered  it,  ran  out  to  the  carriage 
and  handed  it  in.  Bishop  Wilmer  held  his  hand  out  to 
her  and  said,  "Let  me  shake  hands  with  you,  mammy. 
I  want  to  shake  hands  with  a  faithful  servant."  Then, 
as  he  held  the  small,  withered  black  hand  in  his,  he 
went  on  :  "  You  thought  that  you  were  not  doing  much 
when  you  ran  out  with  that  handkerchief.  You  were 
doing  more  than  you  thought.  You  were  doing  a 
faithful  part  by  your  young  mistress.  There  shall  a 
day  come  to  you  in  which  your  ears  shall  hear  a  voice 
saying,  '  Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful  servant. 
Thou  hast  been  faithful  over  a  few  things.  I  will  make 
thee  lord  over  many.'  " 

As  he  spoke  the  last  words,  he  had  the  manner  of 
one  of  God's  prophets  delivering  a  message.  Every 
one  in  the  carriage  was  weeping.  His  rare  and  bound- 
less sympathy  had  enabled  him  to  read  her  character. 
Some  one  asked  him  what  had  moved  him  to  say  such 
words  to  a  stranger.  He  replied  that  he  had  seen 
what  she  was  as  soon  as  he  looked  at  her.  She  spoke 
of  him  after  that  as  the  "good  gentleman."  Those 
who  knew  Bishop  Wilmer  and  his  incomparable  powers 
of  conversation,  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  we 
were  laughing  or  ci*ying,  or  doing  both  together,  all  the 
way  during  that  drive  of  two  and  a  half  miles. 

Seeing  us  draw  on  our  gloves,  he  said,  "  G-irls,  I 
ought  to  have  brought  gloves  to  each  of  you.  There 
were  three  reasons  why  I  did  not.  In  the  first  place, 
I  did  not  know  the  numbers  that  you  wore;  in  the 
second,  I  had  no  money ;  and,  in  the  third,  I  did  not 
think  of  it." 

Thomas  had  been  patient  and  forbearing  with  his 


252     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

servants  when  he  owned  them,  but  he  had  small  pa- 
tience for  the  shiftless,  lazy  ways  of  the  negro  race 
after  they  were  set  free.  Yery  few  of  his  own  remained 
on  the  plantation.  Many  had  gone  off  when  he  was 
absent  with  his  family  in  Mobile  and  Macon,  and  a 
large  number  had  been  left  in  Montgomery  when  the 
war  ended.  Tenants  were  brought  in  from  other  plan- 
tations, but  they  were  more  fond  of  barbecues  and  big 
meetings  and  hunting  and  fishing  than  of  keeping  the 
grass  out  of  the  fields.  It  became  so  onerous  to  Thomas 
to  look  after  plantation  affairs  conducted  in  such  a 
manner,  that  he  decided  to  turn  over  the  management 
to  his  son  Edward. 

He  longed  to  visit  a  tide-water  country,  and  it  was 
arranged  that  he  should  spend  a  part  of  nearly  every 
summer  at  Pass  Christian  with  his  kind  friends  down 
there.  He  was  now  too  old  to  hunt.  Some  of  the 
following  letters  show  his  keen  enjoyment  of  fishing. 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER  EMMY. 

"  Pass  Christian,  4th  August,  1870. 

.  .  .  "Mr. enacted  a  droll  scene,  or  one  that  would 

have  been  droll  had  it  not  been  so  discreditable.  He 
was  very  drunk,  but  he  managed  to  get  into  his  little 
wagon  and  started  for  home.  Meeting  two  ladies  on 
the  way  to  whom  he  wished  to  pay  distinguished  at- 
tention, he  uncovered  with  the  'grand  flourish,'  and 
bowed  so  profoundly  that  he  bowed  himself  clean  out 
of  the  wagon,  head  down,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the 
prompt  seizure  of  the  hoi"se  by  the  head  by  one  of  the 
ladies,  whilst  the  other  was  engaged  in  disentangling 

and  disengaging  Mr. 's  legs  from  the  reins,  Mr. 

would  probably  have  been  gathered  to  his  fathers  ! 

"  I  do  not  allow  plantation  affairs  to  obtrude  them- 
selves upon  my  thoughts.  This  I  intend  as  a  period  of 
rest,  mentally  as  well  as  physically.  I  expect  to  hear 
from  Tom  to-morrow,  and  hope  to  hear  that  Sophy  and 
Fify  and  Lelia  reached  home  on  the  28th,  as  expected. 

"  This  is  no  very  good  place  to  write  letters  at,  as  I 
cannot  very  well  do  it  in  the  morning,  on  account  of 
fishing  and  getting  back  from  fishing,  and  then  bathing, 


THE   CROWNING  BLESSING.  253 

and  then  dressing,  and  then  dining,  and  then  people 
are  coming  to  see  me,  and  then  I  am  going  to  see 
people,  and  then — and  then — I  feel  lazy  and  very  com- 
fortable !" 


T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER  EMMY. 

"Pass  Christian,  7th  August,  1870. 
..."  I  will  move  to  Mr.  Harrison's  to-morrow,  for 
the  purpose  of  waging  regular  war  on  the  trout  nation- 
ality. ...  It  may  be  a  difficult  thing  to  determine 
which  is  the  most  delightful,  the  catching  or  the  eat- 
ing. For  myself,  greatly  as  I  enjoy  the  eating,  I  would 
forego  that,  and  take  the  middling  and  greens,  rather 
than  to  have  my  rod  and  line  taken  from  me.  I  havo 
actually  been  so  nervous  as  to  fancy,  after  going  to  bed, 
that  I  had  a  large  trout  on  my  line,  and  would  give  my 
arm  a  twitch  in  order  to  hook  him  g;ood  1" 


T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER  EMMY. 
"Mb.  J.  P.  Harrison's,  Pass  Christian,  August  12,1870. 
..."  Mr.  Harrison's  horse  being  very  lame  to-day, 
I  lose  my  fishing,  which  is  a  sore  disappointment,  but 
I  ought  to  be  thankful  that  nothing  has  kept  me  from 
the  bayou  until  to-day.  I  have  fished  eleven  days, 
starting  at  about  half  an  hour  after  sunrise  and  return- 
ing about  eleven  o'clock.  In  these  eleven  days  I  have 
caught  one  hundred  and  thirty-eight  of  these  splendid 
trout,  one  sheepshead,  besides  various  brim,  goggle-eyes, 
perch,  etc.,  which  are  never  counted  here.  1  hope  to 
resume  operations  to-morrow,  as  Mr.  John  Harrison 
intends  hiring  a  horse  for  the  campaign,  if  possible,  and 
he  thinks  he  knows  where  he  can  get  him.  On  the 
whole,  I  am  satisfied  with  my  performance,  as  I  put 
the  best  of  them  up  to  all  they  know  to  keep  tally  with 
me.  When  I  am  beaten  (which  is  seldom,  and  a  very 
small  beat  at  that)  the  cause  is  obviously  some  disad- 
vantages that  I  had  to  encounter.  With  a  fair  show, 
there  is  not  a  disciple  of  old  Izaak  that  can  allow  me 
an  inch  of  margin." 

22 


254     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

T.   S.   D.   TO.  HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"  Burleigh,  11th  September,  1870. 

"My  beloved  Daughter, — I  have  not  for  seventy- 
two  years,  eight  months,  and  seven  days  perpetrated 
so  stupid  an  action  as  when  I  sent  your  trunk  to  New 
Orleans,  by  express,  instead  of  to  Baton  Eouge.  It 
never  occurred  to  me  that  the  express  could  take  a 
package  on  any  other  than  a  straight  line  ;  and  I  never 
knew  better  until  Ida  asked  me,  on  yesterday,  how  I 
had  directed  the  trunk.  I  was  near  not  replying,  but 
did  reply,  with  some  impatience,  '  To  New  Orleans, 
care  of  office,  etc.,  etc.,  of  course!'  But  she  took  me 
from  my  high  horse  with  a  jerk  by  asking  me  if  your 
costly  clothes  would  not  be  ruined  bj^  the  rotting  pears 
in  consequence  of  the  delay  of  the  trunk,  which  would 
have  been  avoided  had  it  gone  right  along  by  express. 
Now,  I  want  to  bear  from  you,  and  I  don't ;  but,  as  I 
must  hear,  sooner  or  later,  I  hope  somebody  will  report 
on  the  damage,  as  soon  as  it  is  ascertained.  It  was  a 
stupid  thing  to  put  peai'S  in  that  trunk ;  but  I  thought 
myself  smart  in  my  manner  of  putting  them  up.  You 
found  that  each  pear  was  wrapped  up  separately  in 
strong  brown  paper  (except  two,  that  could  not  be 
gotten  in  with  the  wrappings),  packed  without  press- 
ure in  a  pasteboard  box,  and  the  box  duly  secured  at 
the  very  bottom  of  the  trunk.  All  this  was  done  with 
a  proud  consciousness  that  it  had  been  'done  up  brown.' 
Brown  ?  Very  brown !  your  fine  silks  reeking  with 
rotten  pear-juice.  But  I  don't  know  how  the  thing 
stands,  as  the  people  at  the  New  Orleans  office  may 
have  sent  the  trunk  right  ahead  on  Saturday.  But 
I  fear  they  did  not,  and  actually  believe  the  chances 
against  their  having  done  so. 

"Now,  the  fact  is,  I  thought  of  nothing  hardly  but 
that  I  had  not  only  some  fine  pears,  but  also  an  oppor- 
tunity to  send  you  some.  Had  I  not  sent  them  I  know 
they  would  choke  me  if  I  attempted  to  eat  them.  I 
always  feel  choky  when  eating  good  things  beyond  the 
reach  of  my  children.  But  I  must  master  this  feeling, 
as  it  impairs  the  judgment  sometimes, — as  in  the  pres- 


THE  CROWNING   BLESSING.  255 

ent  case,  most  deplorably.  But — bah !  This  does  no 
good ;  so  let  me  hear  from  you.  This  pear-silk-dress- 
bottom-of-the-trunk-express  business  is  quite  too  inter- 
esting to  admit  of  the  introduction  of  any  other  topic 
in  this  missive,  and  so  I  will  conclude." 

T.   S.   D.   TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Burleigh,  December  14,  1S73. 

.  .  .  "  We  are  having  a  hard  road  to  weed  just  now, 
but,  with  a  stout  heart  and  honest  intentions,  we  will 
wade  through." 

T.   S.   D.   TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Burleigh,  17th.  December,  1873. 

..."  The  almost  cheerful  tone  of  your  letter  of  the 
day  before  yesterday  gives  me  more  pleasure  than  I 
can  well  describe.  I  understand  the  thing  now  en- 
tirely. It  was  hope  deferred.  '  Hope  deferred  maketh 
the  heart  sick.'     Yes,  sick  unto  death  very  often.  .  .  . 

"The  reality  now  stares  us  in  the  face,  and  I  am 
happy  to  learn  from  you  that  your  husband  will  meet 
it  like  a  man.  This  I  never  doubted,  however,  and  I 
am  not  at  all  surprised  at  his  tardiness  in  taking  hold. 
It  is  a  tight  thing  to  take  a  subordinate  position  on  a 
road  where  he  had  ruled  for  a  long  time  as  head  of  the 
scientific  department ;'  but  it  is  manly  and  honorable  to 
take  it,  and,  if  this  be  strictly  true,  as  I  think  it  is,  it 
would  not  be  manly  or  honorable  to  decline  it.  So, 
cheer  up,  you  and  your  glorious  husband,  and  utilize 
such  opportunities  as  offer,  without  fear  of  compro- 
mising yourselves  by  doing  so.  There  is  but  one  po- 
sition on  the  railroad  that  I  would  have  objected  to  his 
taking,  and  that  is  brakeman  on  a  freight-train  ;  not 
on  account  of  the  humbleness  of  it,  but  on  account  of 
the  danger." 

T.   S.   D.   TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Crystal  Springs,  7th  February,  1S74. 

"  My  dear,  dear  Child, — I  cannot  defer  until  I  get 
home  writing  to  you  to  ask  your  forgiveness  for  having 
hurt  your  feelings,  as  I  know  I  did.     Forgive  me,  my 


256     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

good  child,  for  I  was  so  much  excited  as  to  be  incapable 
of  acting  rigbt." 

T.   S.  B.   TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Burleigh,  1st  May,  1874. 
"  My  last  letter  to  you  has  miscarried.  As  I  gave 
you  particular  instructions  bow  to  plant  cotton,  I  will 
repeat ;  and,  as  you  will  want  every  seed  to  come  up 
and  to  do  its  best,  my  object  will  be  to  show  you  bow 
to  do  that.  I  once  planted  forty  seed  with  this  object 
in  view,  and  I  bad  every  one  to  come  up  finely,  but  one 
was  cut  down  by  a  worm  the  first  day.  Thirty-nine 
lived  to  do  their  best.  The  seed  from  those  thirty-nine 
I  planted  again  as  at  first,  and  the  third  year  I  had 
three  hundred  acres  in  cotton  from  those  thirty-nine 
plants." 

T.   S.  D.   TO   HIS   SON   THOMAS. 

"  Burleigh,  17th  May,  1374. 
.  .  .  "Last  Wednesday  the  bishop,  assisted  by  Mr. 
Douglas  and  Heber  Crane,  ordained  a  Mr.  Jackson,  a 
negro  as  black  as  any  on  this  land,  a  deacon  in  the 
church.  The  ceremony  was  very  interesting,  and 
Jackson  preached  in  the  afternoon  to  as  enlightened  an 
audience  as  ever  goes  to  our  church.  His  sermon  was 
admirable  and  admirably  delivered.  I  have  heard  but 
few  who  read  so  well,  and  fewej*  who  had  so  good  a 
manner.  He  is  a  well-educated  man,  having  a  con- 
siderable knowledge  of  Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew. 
He  has  been  living  in  one  of  the  rectory  houses  for  two 
years,  is  a  hard  student  under  Mr.  Douglas,  and  is 
without  reproach.  My  family  has  had  him  by  the 
hand  during  the  whole  time,  and  now  every  one.  of 
our  respectable  people  show  him  kindness.  I  will  send 
you  the  paper  containing  the  proceedings." 

During  a  period  of  thirty  jxears  Thomas  had  the 
pleasure  of  an  annual  or  semi-annual  visit  from  the 
venerable  Bishop  Green,  of  Mississippi,  as  he  went  on 
his  round  of  visitations.  He  was  a  close  friend  of 
Thomas  Dabney's,  and  was  beloved  in  that  house,  as 
he  was  in  every  one  in  his  diocese.     After  these  aged 


THE  CROWNING   BLESSING.  257 

friends  had  attained  fourscore  years  they  fell  into  a 
way  of  exchanging  birthday  letters.  On  Bishop 
Green's  departure,  after  his  last  visit  to  Burleigh, 
Thomas  accompanied  him  as  far  as  Dry  Grove,  two 
and  a  half  miles,  where  he  bade  him  good-by  and  re- 
turned home  on  foot,  the  bishop  proceeding  in  the  car- 
riage. 

T.    S.    D.    TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY   BURLEIGH. 

"  8th  July,  1875. 

..."  You  must  not  take  so  much  note  of  my  look- 
ing sad,  my  dear  child,  as  it  is  contrary  to  my  philoso- 
phy to  cultivate  unhappiness.  That  I  cannot  always 
be  merry,  or  even  cheerful,  should  be  expected  ;  as  there 
are  shades  as  well  as  sunshine  with  all  humanity,  as  I 
suppose.  But  God  has  been  wonderfully  kind  to  me 
in  giving  me  such  children.  .  .  .  And  now  let  me  say, 
my  love,  that  you  give  way  too  much  to  despondency. 
Restrain  yourself  in  giving  expression  to  sad  thoughts, 
unhappy  thoughts,  and  they  will  become  mollified  after 
a  time  for  want  of  aliment  to  feed  on.  The  indulgence 
in  gloomy  thoughts,  not  to  say  gloomy  expressions, 
can  be  made  instruments  of  seli-torture  like  any  other 
vice,  for  I  class  such  a  disposition,  or  the  giving  way 
to  it,  among  the  vices.  God  gave  you  three  children 
and  has  taken  one  away.  The  other  two  He  has 
spared  to  you  so  far,  but,  if  displeased,  He  may  take  the 
others.  Look  at  your  husband  and  your  father.  Is 
it  nothing  to  have  such  a  husband  and  such  a  father? 
Does  not  their  affectionate  appreciation  of  you  (it  is  in 
this  sense  that  I  am  introduced)  count  for  nothing  ? 
If  for,  anything,  think  of  them,  and  the  countless  bless- 
ings by  which  you  are  surrounded,  and  then  humble 
yourself,  my  lonely  child,  and  seek  forgiveness  for  your 
forgetfulness. 

"  Lelia  has  a  juvenile  party  to-day,  consisting  of  the 
shavers  of  both  sexes  from  the  rectory, — twelve  in  all, 
— and  they  are  making  noise  enough.  But  I  am  out 
of  the  melee,  having  resigned  my  room  fo  Sophy,  tak- 
ing roost  right  over  her.  It  does  me  good  to  see  Sophy 
charging  about,  helping  on  the  housekeeping  in  all 
r  22* 


258     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

manner  of  ways  and  fattening  apace.  Her  recovery 
may  be  set  down  among  the  marvels.  God  bless  you, 
my  dear  child." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

LIFE   AT   BURLEIGH. 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS  SON-IN-LAW  B.  H.  GREENE. 

"  Burleigh,  29th  August,  1875. 
.  .  .  "We  are  having  lively  times  in  the  political  way. 
I  have  seen  nothing  like  it  since  1840, — those  days  of 
'  hard  cider,'  '  log  cabins,'  '  'coon  skins,'  and  what-not, 
by  means  of  which  the  Whigs  gave  Yan  Buren  and  the 
Democrats  so  signal  an  overthrow.  I  believe  the  im- 
pulse under  which  the  outraged  white  race  of  the  South 
are  now  being  urged  on  will  be  equally  irresistible. 
At  a  mass-meeting  held  in  Raymond  on  the  18th  in- 
stant, falling  in  with  T.  J.  Wharton,  I  remarked  to  him 
that  such  an  uprising  was  wonderful!  'Uprising?' 
replied  he.  '  It  is  no  uprising.  It  is  an  insurrection  !' 
To  give  you  some  notion  of  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
people,  I  only  have  to  say  that  they  do  not  straggle 
in  to  such  meetings,  but  go  in  clubs,  each  club  with  its 
band  of  music,  flags,  and  regalia,  and  a  cannon  in  many 
instances,  and  these  cannon  they  make  roar  from  every 
hill-top  on  the  road.  The  procession  of  cavalry  from 
Edwai'ds  Depot  (some  other  clubs  having  joined  the 
Edwards  Club)  reached  from  the  court-house  far  be- 
yond John  Shelton's  house, — the  length  of  the  column 
being  two  miles,  as  one  of  the  number  told  me.  That 
from  Utica,  taking  in  my  club  and  one  other,  was  a  great 
deal  longer.  The  thing  to  be  appreciated  had  to  be 
seen.  The  '  carpet-baggers'  and  negroes  are  evidently 
staggered.  We  have  been  carrying  on  this  thing  for 
a  month  without  their  having  moved  a  peg.  The}7  do 
not  know  where  to  begin.  I  suppose  something  will 
be  hatched  up  in  Washington  after  a  while,  and  the  cue 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  259 

be  given  to  the  faithful,  and  then  '  we  shall  see  what 
we  shall  see.' 

"  Among  the  anomalies  of  the  canvass  upon  which  we 
have  just  entered,  not  the  least  significant  is  that  we 
have  not  a  single  candidate  in  the  field  who,  for  him- 
self, sought  office;  whereas  every  'carpet-bagger'  and  a 
large  percentage  of  the  negroes  are  clamorous  for  some 
place  or  other.  All  of  our  candidates  have  been  brought 
out  by  nominating  conventions  ;  many  of  these  against 
their  wish, — for  these  conventions  pick  out  our  best 
men.  For  example,  we  are  running  John  Shelton  for 
supervisor,  A.  E.  Johnston  for  the  State  senate,  Daniel 
Williams  for  magistrate  at  Dry  Grove,  etc.  None  of 
these  desire  the  positions  proposed  for  them,  but  it 
would  be  considered  in  very  bad  taste  in  either  to 
refuse. 

"  The  upshot  of  the  whole  is  that  I  am  kept  on  the 
'  pad,' — being  president  of  the  Dry  Grove  Club,  that  has 
to  march,  or  be  marched  to,  at  every  whip-stitch.  We 
held  two  club  meetings  last  week,  and  I  have  ordered 
one  for  this  week.  Next  week,  on  the  11th  of  Septem- 
ber, we  go  in  a  body  to  Edwards  Depot,  where  prepa- 
rations will  be  made  for  ten  thousand  people.  I  sup- 
pose Jackson  will  respond,  as  I  know  other  places  will, 
and  so  many  barbecues  will  be  given  by  the  clubs,  to 
each  of  which  the  others  must  march  in  a  body,  and  in 
military  order,  that  I  will  esteem  myself  lucky  if  I  get 
through  alive.  But  I  expect  to  be  lucky  to  that  extent, 
as  my  whole  soul  is  in  it." 

It  was  early  in  1875  that  the  citizens  of  Mississippi, 
believing  that  it  was  unmanly  and  stupid  to  submit 
longer  without  protest  against  ruinous  misrule  of  "  car- 
pet-baggers," backed  by  negro  voters,  determined  to 
lay  aside  all  minor  interests  and  make  an  organized 
effort  to  throw  off  the  incubus  which  was  rapidly  in- 
volving the  whole  State  in  financial  bankruptcy  and 
social  degradation  and  misery.  Hence  the  formation 
of  Democratic  clubs. 

From  1865  to  1875, — ten  long,  weary  years, — tenfold 
harder  to  endure  than  the  four  years  immediately  pre- 


260     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

ceding  1865,  the  State  had  been  under  military  rule, 
our  last  governor  from  "Washington  being  Adelbert 
Ames  (a  man  honest  and  brave,  but  narrow  and  puri- 
tanical), who  seems  to  have  hated  the  Aryan  race  of 
the  South.  In  proof  of  tbis  I  merely  cite  the  fact 
that  he  was  impeached  by  the  State  Legislature  for 
fomenting  race  strife,  but,  by  advice  of  counsel,  he 
wisely  or  unwisely  evaded  the  issue  of  trial,  and  fled 
away  to  his  own. 

During  the  years  1870-74  the  taxes,  imposed  by  aliens 
and  the  misguided  African  element,  in  many  cases  ex- 
ceeded the  incomes  derived  from  the  plantations;  and 
it  was  then  that  men,  nerved  with  a  courage  born  of 
despair,  cast  about  them  for  suitable  leaders  (men  of 
unquestioned  integrity,  cool  judgment,  and  dauntless 
resolution)  under  whose  guidance  relief  might  be  at- 
tempted. Intuitively  all  eyes  were  turned  to  Thomas 
Dabney,  and  he  was  chosen  president  of  the  Democratic 
club  of  his  neighborhood.* 

T.   S.    D.   TO   HIS    SON   THOMAS. 

"Burleigh,  15th  October,  1875. 

..."  I  will  have  my  house  as  full  as  it  can  hold  to- 
morrow night,  as  Utica,  Raymond,  Clinton,  Boltons, 
Edwards,  etc.,  will  send  their  clubs  here  in  force.  You 
will  perceive  that  a  great  many  will  have  come  long 
distances.  I  must  take  as  many  as  I  can  accommodate 
reasonably,  having  already  invited  a  number.  It  will 
put  your  sisters  to  much  trouble,  but  as  it  is  unavoida- 
ble, they  undertake  it  with  great  cheerfulness." 

The  daughters  worked  by  day  and  night  on  the 
uniforms  for  Thomas  and  his  friends.  Some  of  the  ne- 
groes joined  the  club,  and  uniforms  must  be  made  for 
them  too,  and  it  was  the  patriotic  thing  for  the  ladies 
in  the  house  to  make  these  also.  Besides,  an  immense 
United  States  flag  was  called  for  by  the  club,  and  was 
made  by  us  in  those  hot  July  days  and  nights. 

Thomas  was  as  ready  to  extend  the  simple  hospitality 

*  Written  by  Edward. 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  261 

of  his  house  in  helping  on  this  movement  as  he  had 
been  in  former  times  to  render  more  extensive  aid.  His 
life-long  friend,  Mr.  John  Shelton,  in  writing  of  this 
side  of  his  character,  says, — 

"We  were  both  Henry  Clay  men  while  he  lived, 
and  Whigs  of  the  straitest  and  strictest  type.  ...  A 
most  zealous  Whig  before  the  civil  war,  the  leaders 
and  candidates  of  that  party  were  often  the  recipients 
of  his  unbounded  and  princely  hospitality,  and,  as  a 
zealous  party  man,  he  took  a  great  interest  in  whatever 
elections  were  pending,  and  shared  his  means  with  an 
unsparing  and  free  hand  for  the  advancement  of  party 
ends." 

T.    S.   D.    TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"  Burleigh,  20th  October,  1875. 
.  .  ,  "We  are  in  a  very  hot  political  contest  just 
now,  and  with  a  good  prospect  of  turning  out  the  car- 
pet-bag thieves  by  whom  we  have  been  robbed  for  the 
past  six  to  ten  years.  They  commenced  at  Clinton  on 
their  old  game  of  getting  up  riots  and  then  calling  on 
Grant  for  troops  to  suppress  them, — these  troops  to  be 
used  afterwards  to  control  elections.  They  succeeded 
in  getting  up  their  riot,  which  was  put  down  by  our 
own  people  after  so  sanguinary  a  fashion  as  to  strike 
them  with  a  terror  not  easily  described." 

T.    S.   D.    TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"  Burleigh,  24th  November,  1875. 

..."  I  am  in  a  laughing  humor  to-day,  as  I  have 

just  sent  E to  pay  my  taxes,  and  I  had  to  fork  over 

only  three  hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars  for  that 
purpose, — a  very  different  affair  from  the  operations  of 
many  years  back.  Last  year  it  took  over  eight  hun- 
dred dollars,  and  the  year  before  more  than  that." 

In  1873  the  taxes  on  the  plantation  (Burleigh) 
amounted  to  over  nine  hundred  dollars,  and  the  income 
was  less  than  eight  hundred  dollars.  This  state  of 
affairs  was  the  result  of  carpet-bag  rule, — a  rule  more 


262     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

harassing,  humiliating,  and  destructive  than  people 
beyond  our  borders  can  conceive. 

In  one  of  these  years  a  lawsuit  was  brought  against 
Thomas  about  one  of  his  line  fences.  He  had  kept  up 
his  own  fences  dividing  his  plantation  from  his  neigh- 
bors,* not  sharing  the  expense  and  labor  with  them,  as 
.was  the  custom  in  the  country.  The  negroes  were 
summoned  by  his  counsel  as  witnesses.  They  must 
have  talked  the  case  over  with  indignation  among 
themselves,  for  their  testimony  given,  one  after  another, 
sounded  in  the  court-room  as  if  they  had  been  trained 
for  the  occasion.    They  used  the  same  words  :  "  Course 

I  know  all  'bout  it.     'Twas  when  Mr.  M was  de 

oberseer.  Hi  !  I  help  to  split  dem  rails.  Dey's  marster's 
rails.  Didn't  brer  Gilbert  lay  de  worm  o'  dat  fence  ? 
All  master  people  know  dat.  Dey  all  'members  dat 
dey  split  and  tote  dem  rails,  and  brer  Gilbert  lay  de 
worm." 

A  good  many,  fifty  perhaps,  had  been  summoned, 
but  after  five  or  six  had  said  these  words,  Thomas's 
counsel  decided  at  once  that  the  case  would  probably 
go  against  him  if  the  whole  band  should  be  allowed  to 
go  through  with  this  formula,  and,  greatly  to  the  dis- 
appointment of  the  negroes,  no  more  were  allowed  to 
give  their  evidence.  Their  pride  in  their  old  owner 
had  risen  to  its  height,  and  their  indignation  against 
the  neighbor  was  proportionally  great.  The  case  lasted 
for  three  days,  and,  during  this  time,  one  of  the  daugh- 
ters was  alone  at  Burleigh.  The  negroes  showed  much 
sympathy  for  her.  Every  evening  about  dusk  Mammy 
Maria's  husband  came  to  the  steps  where  she  was  sit- 
ting. He  was  a  shy  man,  and  had  scarcely  ever  before 
spoken  a  dozen  words  to  her.  He  appeared  with  his 
hat  in  his  hand  and  the  graceful  bows  and  salutes  of 
the  negro  race. 

"  Good-evenin',  missis.  'Eia,  marm,  say  dat  I  must 
tell  you  'bout  my  garden.  She  'bleeged  to  go  home  to 
'tend  to  things  now.  She  say  dat  I  ken  tell  you  how 
my  garden  was  gittin'  on.      I  plant  potatoes,  marm, 

*  With  one  exception,  which  was  in  the  case  of  a  connection. 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  263 

an'  I  "wricked  'em.  Oh,  yes,  I'se  wucked  'em.  An' 
peas  an'  greens,  marm,  an'  I  wucked  'em.  An'  I  git 
sprouts  to  eat  out  o'  my  garden,  marm.  I  wucked  'em 
all,  marm.  'Eia  say  dat  I  mus'n't  let  you  be  lonely. 
She  tole  me  to  tell  you  'bout  dem  things.  An'  she  say 
dat  you  mus'n't  feel  no  ways  oneasy  'bout  dat  law  busi- 
ness. She  say  dat  some  o'  de  people  is  come  down  from 
Raymond  and  dey  say  dat  she  must  tell  you  'bout  how 
things  is  goin'  on,  an'  dat  eberything  is  goin'  for  mas- 
ter. An'  you  ought  to  hear  how  he  people  talk  up  for 
him.  Hi !  dem  lawyers  stop  Ellis  'cus  he  talk  up  so. 
Dey  sent  some  o'  de  people  back  an'  wouldn't  let  'em 
talk.  But  dey  was  all  ready  to  say  de  same  thing  'bout 
dat  fence.  Dey  was  ready  to  stan'  up  for  master,  but 
dey  wasn't  'llowed  to  do  it." 

"  John  say  he  couldn't  talk  to  you,"  mammy  ex- 
plained afterwards.  "But  I  tole  him.  to  tell  you  all 
'bout  he  garden ;  I  know  he  could  talk  'bout  dat." 

Great  was  the  rejoicing  on  the  plantation  when  the 
case  was  decided  for  the  master,  and  he  and  his  wit- 
nesses came  home  together.  A  good  many  came  to  the 
house  to  say  how  glad  they  were  that  he  had  gained 
the  case,  and  to  explain  how  much  they  had  done  in 
bringing  about  the  result. 

When  Thomas  Dabney's  fortunes  were  at  their  low- 
est ebb  he  heard  that  a  widow  living  a  few  miles  from 
him  was  in  need  of  the  necessaries  of  life.  The  case 
Avas  represented  to  him  very  strongly  that  she  and  her 
children  were  in  danger  of  starvation.  He  turned 
visibly  white,  and  said  afterwards  that  he  thought  his 
heart  had  stopped  beating  for  a  moment  when  he  heai'd 
of  such  a  thing  so  near  him.  He  hurried  out  and  sent 
a  wagon-load  of  corn  and  a  supply  of  meat  to  her,  and 
he  went  himself  and  put  ten  dollars  in  her  hand.  "  My 
daughter  is  also  a  woman"  were  the  words  with  which 
he  accompanied  the  money.  "  She  knows  that  you 
may  need  money  to  buy  some  little  things  as  well  as 
food."  He  was  so  poor  at  the  time  that  the  lack  of 
the  corn  and  meat  would  be  seriously  felt  in  his  own 
larder,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  anything  were  left  in  his 
pocket  after  he  gave  away  the  ten  dollars.     It  seems 


264     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

almost  needless  to  say  that  his  daughter,  knowing  the 
family  at  Burleigh  was  living  almost  without  the  use 
of  money,  did  not  suggest  to  him  to  give  that.  But 
what  woman  could  have  devised  a  more  compassionate 
and  gracious  way  of  bestowing  a  gift  ? 

A  poor  woman  in  Mississippi  has  said  of  him,  "  The 
time  that  my  son  fell  in  the  well  and  he  was  there, — 
oh !  I  could  have  hugged  him  in  my  arms.  My  son 
told  me  that  the  first  thing  that  he  saw  was  that  white 
head  bending  over  him." 

T.   S.   D.   TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Burleigh,  21st  February,  1876. 
"  The  mail  of  to-day  brought  me  your  sweet  and 
truly  dutiful  letter  of  the  16th  instant.  You  only 
want  my  '  orders,'  my  dear  child,  to  obey  them.  God 
forbid  that  I  should  ever  give  '  orders'  to  one  who  is 
ever  ready  to  anticipate  my  wishes  by  the  time  that  I 
know  them  myself.     I  had  to  write  that  letter  to  you, 

painful  as  it  was  to  me.     All  that  you  say  of I 

already  knew  but  too  well ;  but  the  knowledge  came 
too  late  to  be  of  any  benefit  to  us,  and  it  can  now  do 
no  good  to  grieve  over  it.  What  we  now  have  to  do 
is  to  look  the  thing  in  the  face  as  it  stands,  and  I  will 
tell  Coker  that  he  may  look  to  me  for  that  one  hun- 
dred dollars  next  winter.  I  cannot  pay  it  any  sooner, 
as  I  find,  after  my  last  pound  of  cotton  has  been  sold, 
that  I  have  thirty-three  dollars  and  some  cents  left." 

T.   S.   D.   TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Burleigh,  14th  July,  1876. 

..."  "When  I  fish  in  the  bayous  back  of  the  Pass 
(which  I  genei'ally  do,  in  preference  to  fishing  in  the 
gulf),  I  start  at  sunrise  and  get  back  at  half-past 
twelve  to  one  o'clock,  and  the  distance,  eight  miles,  is 
nearly  the  same  as  from  Alexandria  to  Trout  Creek. 
With  a  buggy  and  a  good  horse  I  never  thought  any- 
thing of  the  distance;  and,  besides,  I  always  wanted 
the  family  with  whom  I  stayed  to  enjoy  the  fruit  of 
my  rod.  I  have  caught  thirty-two  trout  (we  never 
counted  the  perch,  goggle-eyes,  etc.)  in  the  three  hours 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  265 

that  we  had  for  fishing.  But  that  is  the  largest  num- 
ber that  I  ever  caught  in  any  one  day.  We  always 
caught  more  than  the  family  wanted,  however;  and 
Mrs.  Harrison  and  Mrs.  Smith  were  in  the  habit  of 
supplying  their  neighbors  with  many  a  fine  dish,  for 
two  to  three  of  us  would  bring  in  a  goodly  pile  of 
them." 

He  was  at  this  time  planning  a  trip  to  Pass  Christian. 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER  EMMY. 

"Burleigh,  3d  May,  1877. 

"  My  beloved  Child, — I  wrote  to  your  brother  last 
Sunday,  but  without  mentioning  your  childi'en.  When 
such  a  letter  comes  from  me,  it  may  be  considered  as 
clean  a  '  bill  of  health'  as  can  possibly  be  written. 
But  I  would  have  noticed  them  had  I  not  expected  Ida 
to  stick  in  something.  In  all  letters  from  me  to  any 
member  of  my  family,  if  anything  is  the  matter  with 
another  member,  I  always  write  the  worst,  not  exag- 
gerated, not  extenuated,  but  precisely  as  the  thing 
stands,  leaning,  if  leaning  at  all,  to  the  bad,  but  avoid- 
ing all  leaning,  if  that  be  possible.  But  you  know  all 
this,  and  }ret  I  find  you  as  wretched  as  you  can  make 
yourself  over  imaginary  sufferings  of  Emmeline.  The 
child  has  not  grunted  once  since  my  telegram  to  Jtou, 
nor  for  four  days  previously  to  the  date  of  that  telegram. 
There  is  no  need  of  studying  what  she  likes  or  dislikes, 
whether  sweet  milk  or  sour,  bread  or  crackers,  for  she 
eats  right  and  left  four  to  five  times  during  the  day. 
The  day  before  yesterday  (1st  May)  the  rectory  chil- 
dren were  all  here,  a  May-party  having  been  gotten 
up  for  them.  They  had  various  '  goodies'  spread  on 
a  large  table  in  the  yard,  the  entertainment  coming  off 
late  in  the  evening.  After  the  children  had  satisfied 
themselves  the  grown  folks  partook.  No  long  time 
afterwards,  the  company  having  left  and  Sue  very 
tired,  she  said  to  Emmeline,  '  Well,  come  along  now 
and  we  will  go  to  bed.'  Whereupon  Emmeline,  with 
all  the  naivete  imaginable,  inquired  if  they  were  not 
going  to  have  supper' 

m  23 


266     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

"  So  make  yourself  easy.  I  will  never  leave  any- 
thing to  your  imagination  about  these  dear  little  fel- 
lows; so,  'go  'long'  and  get  yourself  well  as  soon  as 
you  please." 

T.  S.  D.  TO  MRS.  H.  CAMPBELL  SMITH. 

"Btjkleigh,  6th  July,  1877. 

"  My  much  beloved  Niece, — You  can't  know  how 
much  pleasure  your  eminently  characteristic  letter  of 
the  20th  ultimo  gave  me — gave  all  of  us.  It  is  so  like 
you  to  remember  a  promise  that  I  did  not  make,  but 
which  you  chose  to  believe  I  did  make  because  you 
wished  to  have  it  so.  I  was  too  fearful  of  being  un- 
able to  visit  you  this  summer  to  promise  such  a  thing, 
and  yet  could  not  give  expression  to  that  doubt;  and 
hence  you  were  left  to  draw  your  own  inference,  and 
you  only  know  one  way  of  solving  such  problems  as 
these.  I  now  know  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  en- 
joy the  hospitality  of  Cam  and  yourself  this  summer, 
as  we  are  expecting  my  brother's  family, — the  whole 
tribe,  consisting  of  himself  and  wife,  Nanny,  Mary 
Ware  and  her  son  Toby,  and  perhaps  Martha,  to  spend 
the  month  of  August  with  us.  They  are  all  together 
on  Honey  Island  (except  Martha),  but  thej7,  know 
that  they  can't  stay  there  through  the  summer,  and 
so  they  propose  to  divide  about  three  months  be- 
tween Aggy,  Colonel  Porter,  and  myself.  So  you  see, 
my  dear,  that  I  am  nailed  hard  and  fast  right  here  for 
this  summer,  at  least.  But  I  don't  relinquish  the  hope 
of  seeing  the  inside  of  your  new  home  some  time  or 
other,  and  will  do  it  as  soon  as  I  can,  for  I  wish  to  see 
you  all  very  much.  As  you  say  nothing  about  gnats 
in  your  letter  to  me,  I  hope  those  vile  pests  left  you 
quickly  after  your  letter  was  written  to  Mrs.  Douglas. 
They  are  a  great  deal  worse  than  mosquitoes,  I  think, 
as  they  light  on  you  in  clouds — in  your  eyes,  nose,  and 

ears, — are  not  to  be  frightened  off,  bite  like ,  and 

pass  right  through  ordinary  mosquito-bai's.  I  fear 
your  region  is  subject  to  them  at  certain  seasons  of  the 
year. 

"T  don't  know  whether  to  congratulate  Cam  on  his 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  267 

elegant  leisure  or  not.  If  he  had  much  professional 
employment,  you  would  probably  have  to  burn  the 
lamp  o'  nights. 

"  If  your  neighbors  wish  to  see  your  old  uncle,  he  is 
indebted  to  the  kind  words  of  his  niece  for  that  wish. 
But  what  is  the  use  of  having  friends  if  they  fail  to 
show  it  on  proper  occasions  ! 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  some  garden.  I  have  had 
a  scuffle  to  have  even  that,  as  it  rained  eternally  dur- 
ing the  spring,  and  then  dropped  off  to  no  rain  at  all, 
and  we  are  having  the  hottest  summer  I  ever  witnessed 
in  Mississippi.  I  have  to  take  the  garden  in  broken 
doses,  homoeopathic  at  that,  as  I  came  near  a  sunstroke, 
or  something  worse,  the  other  day,  frightening  the 
girls  nearly  out  of  their  wits. 

"Lelia,  poor  child,  is  very  far  from  being  well.  I 
was  in  hopes  of  getting  her  off  to  the  North,  but  could 
not  make  it  out,  and  so  she  has  gone  to  her  kind  friends 
in  Brandon  for  a  change  of  air  and  scene.  If  she  is 
not  improved  by  it,  I  must  send  her  to  New  York  when 
her  brother  returns  to  that  place  after  his  summer 
vacation  terminates.  Emmy  has  been  in  New  York 
three  to  four  months,  but  is  expected  to  arrive  at  Terry 
to-morrow  night.  Her  children  have  been  with  us 
during  her  absence,  but  she  will  have  no  fault  to  find 
when  she  sees  them,  as  they  are  as  hearty  a  trio  as 
ever  discussed  bread  and  butter  and  sich. 

"  Charlie  and  Kate  are  as  loving  as  ever,  I  believe, 
which  is  saying  a  good  deal  for  this  hot  weather.  The 
girls  send  any  amount  of  love  to  you  and  Cam  and 
the  children.     My  love  all  round." 

T.  S.  D.  TO   MRS.  H.  CAMPBELL    SMITH. 

"Burleigh,  19th  December,  1877. 

"  My  poor  afflicted  Child, — I  received,  yesterday, 
a  letter  from  Dr.  Baird,  giving  the  particulars  of  the 
dreadful  calamity  that  has  befallen  you.  I  was  wait- 
ing for  that,  or  for  something  of  the  kind  from  some 
member  of  your  family,  being  more  than  willing  to 
postpone  so  mournful  and  difficult  a  task  as  writing 
a  letter  to  you  that  could  be  satisfactory  to  me  or  in 


268     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

any  way  a  comfort  to  you.  To  lose  one's  husband  or 
wife  I  take  to  be  tbe  greatest  calamity  that  can  befall 
any  one  who  may  be  happily  married,  and  that  you 
had  that  comfort  in  Cam  I  have  every  reason  to  be 
absolutely  certain  of.  But,  my  dear  child,  it  is  among 
the  inevitable  laws  of  nature  that  these  unions  must 
be  broken  up  at  some  time  or  other,  and  one  or  the 
other  be  left  to  mourn.  It  is  therefore  seemly  that  we 
should  be  grateful  for  such  measure  of  happiness  as 
we  have  been  permitted  to  enjoy,  and  to  bow  our 
heads  reverently  and  without  a  rebellious  spirit  when 
the  All  Wise  sees  fit  to  checker  our  path.  I  trust  you 
may  succeed,  after  a  time,  in  schooling  your  mind  to 
this  necessity. 

"  Dr.  Baird's  letter  to  me  shows  him  to  be  a  very 
sincere  friend  of  yours.  He  discusses  your  situation 
with  a  great  deal  of  feeling,  and  exhorts  me  to  go  to 
see  you,  if  possible,  and,  if  not  possible,  to  send  some 
one  on  whose  friendship  you  may  be  supposed  to  rely. 
.  .  .  For  myself,  you  may  remember  that  I  returned 
from  the  Pass  a  month  or  two  ago  (or  were  told  that 
I  did)  so  entirely  indisposed  as  to  make  it  doubtful 
whether  or  no  I  should  ever  get  over  it.  I  am  unable 
now  to  undergo  any  extra  exertion,  and  get  to  my 
garden  with  some  difficultjf,  but  force  myself  to  go,  as 
better  than  continuous  inactivity.  I  never  even  go  to 
Dry  Grove  if  it  can  be  avoided.  It  was  therefore  im- 
possible for  me  to  accede  to  Dr.  Baird's  suggestion  by 
going  to  your  house." 

T.   S.   D.   TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Burleigh,  6th  January,  1878. 

"  God  bless  my  child  and  her  children  and  her  hus- 
band !  And  you  thought  of  me  in  connection  with 
the  4th,  and  your  husband  thought  of  me  in  connec- 
tion with  Christmas  and  oysters,  and  you  forgot  to 
write  to  me  about  it!  But  all  is  well  that  ends  well, 
as  you  say;  and  I  now  know  more  about  oysters  than 
I  ever  did.  I  thought  they  must  be  lost,  but  I  told 
Edward  to  bring  them  out  unless  they  would  knock  a 
buzzard  over.    There  were  but  two  spoiled  ones.    The 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  269 

mouths  of  a  good  many  were  a  little  open,  but,  as  I 
had  to  open  all  of  them,  I  found  they  were  not  spoiled, 
and  in  they  all  went  to  the  dish.  I  even  ate  some  of 
them  raw.  I  took  them  all  out  of  the  barrel  on  Tues- 
day morning,  placed  them  on  the  ground  in  the  north 
cellar,  with  the  deep  shell  down,  sprinkled  them  with 
salt  and  meal,  ancl  then  with  just  enough  water  to 
make  the  salt  run  a  little.  They  were  a  little  too 
fresh  at  first,  but  on  the  second  da}7  after  their  removal 
from  the  barrel  they  were  as  salt  as  could  be  desired, 
and  perfectly  delicious.  I  could  have  kept  them — 
well,  I  don't  know  how  long, — a  week,  perhaps;  per- 
haps a  month.  They  improved  every  day  (I  mean 
those  with  their  shells  closed),  the  last  being  the  best. 
You  need  never  mind  the  temperature  hereafter;  and, 
as  New  Orleans  oysters  are  generally  too  fresh,  you 
can,  in  one  day,  season  them  to  your  taste  and  make 
them  equal  to  York  River  oysters, — perhaps !  .  .  . 

"Letters  from  Yirginius  and  Ben  remind  me  of  the 
4th.  Good  boys !  Neither  did  Tom  fail.  G-ood  boy, 
too !  These  things,  and  such  thoughts  as  they  suggest, 
make  me  happy.  .  .  . 

"Thos.  S.  Dabney." 

Several  of  Augustine's  children  had  moved  to  Cali- 
fornia, and  in  January,  1878,  he  and  Mrs.  Augustine 
Dabney  went  there  to  make  their  home  among  their 
children.     It  was  the  first  separation  of  the  brothers. 

T.    S.    D.    TO   AUGUSTINE    DABNEY. 

"Burleigh,  20th  January,  1878. 

"Although  you  have  been  throwing  off  suggestions 
from  time  to  time  of  the  likelihood  of  your  going  to 
California,  I  was  still  taken  by  surprise  when  I  read 
your  card  of  the  12th,  informing  me  that  you  were 
packing  up  and  expecting  to  be  off  in  two  hours.  I 
hope  Mary  stood  the  trip  reasonably.  Unless  some 
accident  befell,  I  have  no  good  reason  for  hoping  that 

you  and  sister  E had  a  good  time,  as  you  both  like 

travelling,  she  especially.  No  amount  of  '  hoping' 
would  do  any  good  under  such  circumstances;  as  of 

23* 


270      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

all  modes  of  getting  about,  the  only  intolerable  mode  to 
me  is  by  rail.  There  is  no  walking  about  on  a  railroad 
car;  the  only  change  possible  is  to  change  from  one 
seat  to  another, — from  an  erect  to  a  recumbent  or  a 
prostrate  position.  When  on  one  of  these  luxurious 
vehicles  I  am  reminded  within  an  hour  or  two  of  the 
man  of  leisure  who  would  escape,  if  he  knew  how,  from 
the  '  rack  of  a  too  easy  chair.'  I  suppose  to  be 
stretched  on  a  hot  gridiron,  or  on  a  bed  of  fleas,  with 
my  hands  tied  would  be  worse,  and  that  is  about  the 
best  I  can  say  for  such  luxuries  as  palace  cars.  And 
yet  I  take  them,  of  course,  when  I  have  to  go,  but  on 
the  principle  that  a  nauseous  dose  of  physic  cuts  short 
disease.  I  think  Mary  extremely  fortunate  in  having 
made  her  escape  from  cotton-planting ;  as,  indeed,  from 
every  interest  now  known  to  this  side  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada.  From  my  stand-point  I  can  discover  nothing 
but  an  early  crash  and  a  universal  bankruptcy.  Corn 
is  selling  in  Kansas  at  fifteen  cents  per  bushel,  and  is 
worth  but  little  more  at  Bonham,  Texas,  where  Ben 
lives.  Molasses  can  now  be  had  in  New  Orleans  at 
six  dollars  per  barrel  and  sugar  at  six  cents  per  pound. 
Edward  sold  cotton  at  Terry  a  few  days  ago  at  six  and 
a  half  cents.  It  was  inferior  cotton,  but  a  large  portion 
of  my  crop  is  no  better,  as  we  had  four  overflows  of 
the  creek  in  three  weeks,  when  much  of  the  crop  was 
open,  and  necessarily  was  washed  out,  and  what  re- 
mained was  badly  damaged.  Ten  to  eleven  cents  in 
New  Orleans  is  now  about  the  price  of  what  little  tol- 
erably good  cotton  we  have.  Under  such  figures  the 
whole  country  must  sink,  except  the  few  who  are  free 
of  debt,  and  this  class  goes  about  as  far  towards  making 
this  Southern  country  as  one  swallow  does  towards 
making  a  summer.  Tom  has  taken  the  alarm  promptly 
by  entering  the  medical  college  as  a  student,  but  with- 
out giving  up  his  school,  attending  lectures  and  the 
dissecting-room  out  of  school  hours.  It  will  be  too 
much  for  him,  I  feel  certain,  although  he  is  very  strong. 
But  I  will  watch  him  closely,  you  may  judge.  His 
school  hours  are  from  nine  a.m.  to  three  p.m.  Lectux'es 
from  half-past  three  p.m.  to  five  p.m.,  and  dissecting  from 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  271 

seven  to  eleven  and  twelve  at  night.  You  will  perceive 
that  he  has  but  thirty  minutes  to  pass  from  his  school 
to  the  lecture-room,  and  but  one  hour  and  a  half  for 
dinner,  recreation,  and  travelling,  from  nine  in  the 
morning  till  eleven  or  twelve  at  night.  No  man  can 
stand  this,  I  think;  or,  if  at  all,  but  for  a  short  time. 
But  Tom  is  a  fellow  of  pluck  and  will  stand  as  much 
of  it  as  any  man.  I  will  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  him, 
however. 

"  We  had  a  very  humdrum  Christmas, — none  but  my 
own  family,  and  many  of  them  away,  as  you  know.  I 
had  a  fine  beef  for  the  occasion,  but  had  to  let  him  en- 
joy a  reprieve,  as  the  weather  was  quite  too  warm  to 
kill  him  at  that  time.  But  we  are  enjoying  him  now, 
and  each  day  as  I  look  upon  a  part  of  him  smoking  on 
the  table  I  think  of  ante-bellum  times,  in  a  small  way." 

T.    S.    D.   TO   AUGUSTINE   DABNET. 

"Burleigh,  3d  March,  1878. 

"Tours  of  the  1st  February  reached  me  'on  time,' 
as  I  suppose,  and  went  through  the  family,  interesting 
each  one  of  us  very  much,  as  it  abounds  in  incidents 
of  travel  and  California  affairs.  One  incident,  however, 
was  far  from  agreeable,  but  when  a  man  tumbles  down 
a  strange  and  dark  staircase,  he  may  congratulate  him- 
self upon  finding  no  bones  broken.  I  hope  your  hand 
has  recovered.  I  did  not  intend  deferring  this  reply  so 
long,  and  did  not  know  that  it  was  so  long  until  1  re- 
ferred to  the  date  just  now.  I  truly  hope  that  Mary 
finds  the  climate  agreeable  to  her,  and  I  hope  that  Toby 
is  doing  as  well  as  Mary  can  desire.  As  to  yourself 
and  sister  E ,  I  have  no  apprehension  but  that  every- 
thing in  that  great  country  will  suit  you  both  perfectly, 
and  prolong  your  lives.  .  .  .  You  will  be  seventy-eight 
to-morrow,  dating  this  reminds  me  of  it.  ...  I  was 
interrupted  and  lost  the  mail,  and  have  read  over  your 
letter  again,  with  renewed  interest.  It  is  very  full,  and 
strictly  conforms  to  the  description  of  Mark  Twain,  in 
his  last  book,  'Boughing  It,'  which  I  have  just  read; 
which  is  remarkable,  as  you  were  rushing  along  by 


272     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

rail,  whereas  ho  took  it  by  stage,  horseback,  and  foot- 
back.  The  Desert  and  the  sage-bushes,  the  sharp  air 
and  snow  of  the  Sierra  and  the  sudden  transition  to 
perpetual  spring  on  reaching  the  "Valley  of  Sacramento. 
All  this  is  more  like  enchantment  than  like  anything 
to  be  looked  for  in  real  life.  .  .  . 

"  Although  I  have,  for  the  past  ten  or  fifteen  years, 
only  given  myself  three  to  five  years  of  furlough  at  a 
time,  I  yet  live,  and  with  a  breathing  apparatus  and 
casing  as  perfect  as  ever,  to  all  appearance ;  but  yet  the 
vigilant  old  fellow  '  Time'  has  not  slept,  but  has  in- 
creased day  by  day  my  repugnance  to  locomotion, 
making  it  more  agreeable  to  me  to  read  or  talk  in  an 
arm-chair  than  to  trundle  a  wheelbarrow  up  a  steep 
hill ;  and  it  requires  so  much  engineering  to  pull  on  my 
socks,  that  Sue  comes  into  my  room  every  morning  be- 
fore I  am  up  and  shoves  them  on  for  me.  Some  one 
has  to  tie  my  shoes;  not  that  it  is  impossible  to  me,  but 
vastly  disagreeable.  Now,  although  I  have  not  men- 
tioned either  of  old  Dodson's  (or  JDobson's)  infirmities 
in  the  Table,  you  will  recognize  this  as  a  kindred 
picture.  .  .  . 

"  The  people  here,  with  few  exceptions,  are  becoming 
poorer  and  poorer,  and  without  the  least  prospect  of 
amendment,  as  the  prime  cause  is  to  be  found  in  the 
worth lessness  of  the  negro.  As  I  am  now  physically 
unable  to  take  charge  (active)  of  the  plantation,  I  am 
utterly  at  a  loss  as  to  what  is  best  to  be  done.  If  I 
could  sell  this  place,  the  problem  would  be  solved,  but 
nothing  can  be  sold  here  now."  .  .  . 

Thomas's  own  words  will  best  show  how  he  felt 
the  loss  of  his  brother,  that  occurred  in  April  of  this 
year. 

T.    S.    D.    TO   MRS.    AUGUSTINE   DABNEY. 

"  Burleigh,  28th  April,  1878. 

"  My  dear  Sister, — A  note  from  Marye,  received 
this  morning,  informs  me  that  I  have  lost  my  only 
brother.  If  there  was  a  rule  in  such  cases  he  would 
have  been  the  survivor,  but  there  is  no  rule  that  I 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  273 

know  of.  I  have  no  consolation  to  offer  beyond  the 
expression  of  my  sincere  sympathy, — an  oblation  that 
I  need  nearly  as  much  as  you  do.  It  will  doubtless 
occur  to  you,  without  your  being  reminded  of  it,  that 
you  have  been  wonderfully  passed  by  the  hand  of  fate 
during  the  whole  course  of  your  married  life,  amount- 
ing to  about  forty-five  years,  I  think.  "When  you 
think  of  the  few,  the  very  few,  who  have  carried  their 
cup  of  happiness  over  the  rough  paths  of  life  for  such 
a  time  with  so  little  loss,  you  may  be  surprised  into 
self-gratulation  rather  than  be  weighed  down  by  this 
calamity,  great  as  I  feel  it  to  be  on  you  and  on  mj^self. 
You  are  wonderfully  blessed  in  your  children.  Do 
you  know  any  one  with  whom  you  would  exchange, 
maternal  ties  being  severed,  and  you  free  to  choose  ? 
Take  me  from  the  list,  and  do  you  know  another? 
Verily,  no !  It  becomes  you,  then,  to  accept  this  vis- 
itation of  Providence  without  a  murmur,  or  the  ap- 
pearance of  one.  To  mourn  we  must,  and  may,  and 
be  forgiven. 

"  For  myself,  I  feel  like  some  hoary  obelisk,  with  a 
circle  of  desolation  steadily  widening,  but  few,  if  any, 
of  the  contemporaries  of  my  early  manhood  surviving. 
Not  one  remains,  I  think.  .  .  . 

"  You  have  no  plans  at  present,  I  suppose.  Should 
you  elect,  at  any  future  time,  to  return  to  this  State, 
you  will  remember  that  my  door,  equally  with  that 
of  your  children,  will  be  open  to  you."  .  .  . 

T.    S.   D.    TO    HIS    DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Borleigh,  13th  August,  1S78. 

"That  you  and  Ida  are  quite  able  to  take  care  of 
yourselves  I  entertain  no  doubt,  but  still  it  does  me 
good  to  find  you  asserting  the  fact  with  so  much  bold- 
ness. Of  all  the  principles  developed  by  the  late  war, 
I  think  the  capability  of  our  Southern  women  to  take 
care  of  themselves  by  no  means  the  least  important. 
With  ten  to  twelve  years  of  nominal  peace,  however, 
the  necessity  for  exemplifying  that  principle  might  be 
supposed  to  be  at  an  end ;  but  so  long  as  such  men  as 
Governor have  it  in  their  power  to  control  and 


274     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

set  at  defiance  the  decrees  of  the  judiciary,  just  so  long 
you  will  have  to  take  care  of  yourselves,  and  lucky  to 
be  able  to  do  it.  The  responsibility  that  be  is  assuming 
is  fearful ;  and  to  make  it  as  bad  as  possible,  there  was 
no  necessity  for  it,  no  matter  what  his  opinions  might 
be,  for  a  governor  has  no  right  to  an  opinion  on  a  law 
after  it  has  been  acted  upon  by  the  Supreme  Court. 
He  still  has  the  power,  as  an  engineer  has  to  blow  up 
his  passengers,  but  he  does  not  blow  them  up  for  all 
that,  except  by  accident.  I  suppose  the  bread  of  two 
thousand  people  has  been  denied  them  by  the  folly  or 
wickedness  of  this  one  wrong-headed  man." 

After  the  death  of  Augustine  several  of  his  children 
made  arrangements  to  come  to  Burleigh  with  their  fam- 
ilies to  board  during  the  summer  months.  This  was 
not  only  a  source  of  material  aid  to  their  uncle,  but  it 
brought  back  the  old  delightful  intercourse  between  the 
two  families.  This  had  been  interrupted,  as  well  by 
other  unavoidable  circumstances  of  life  as  by  Thomas's 
poverty.  Four  happy  summers  were  spent  in  this 
manner  at  Burleigh.  But  the  latter  part  of  the  first 
summer  (1878)  was  a  sad  time  all  over  the  South.  The 
yellow  fever  was  raging  in  many  of  the  cities  and 
towns.  Late  in  August  a  suspicious  sickness  appeared 
at  Dry  Grove.  As  this  little  village  was  situated  in  a 
healthful  part  of  the  country,  and  as  there  was  a  theory 
that  the  fever  could  not  reach  it,  the  people  felt  no 
alarm.  The  following  letters  were  written  by  Thomas 
at  this  period. 

T.    S.    D.    TO    HUGH   STEWART,    ESQ. 

"Burleigh,  31st  August,  1878. 

"Dear  Sir, — In  view  of  the  pestilence  that  has 
broken  out  at  Dry  Grove,  I  wish  you  to  bring  your 
wife  and  Nellie  here  immediately.  You  have  not  a 
moment  to  lose.  .  .  . 

"  My  carriage  will  be  moving  the  rectory  family  this 
morning,  and  when  it  completes  that  job  will  bring 
yours. 

"  Don't  hesitate,  as  the  loss  of  a  clay  may  cost  you 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  275 

your  life.     I  will  tell  you  how  you  can  manage  the 
post-office. 

"  Most  truly  your  friend, 

"Thomas  S.  Dabney." 


T.   S.   D.   TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Burleigh,  7th  September,  1878. 

"Mrs.  Governor  Brown's  servant-girl,  Eliza,  as  you 
will  remember,  went  to  Canton  a  year  or  so  ago.  She 
returned  to  her  old  home  about  two  weeks  ago,  and 
died  of  yellow  fever  or  some  kindred  disease  in  the 
course  of  four  to  six  days.  Four  days  after  her  death 
the  governor  was  taken  ill.  Three  or  four  days  after 
that  Edward  went  to  Terry,  and,  hearing  of  the  gov- 
ernor's illness,  went  directly  to  see  him.  He  found  him 
very  ill,  and  announced  to  Mrs.  Brown  his  intention  to 
remain  with  him.  But  she  positively  refused  to  allow 
this,  and  he  came  home  and  told  us  of  it,  and  added 
that  he  would  immediately  return.  This  Mrs.  Brown 
probably  expected,  but  would  not  allow  him  to  wait  on 
the  governor  without  first  obtaining  my  sanction.  She 
raised  no  objection  to  his  remaining  after  his  return. 
He  was  to  have  written  to  us  by  every  mail,  but  five 
days  passed  without  a  line  from  him  or  from  any  one 
there.  Mr.  Douglas  then  went  to  see  after  them,  and 
found  Edward  with  the  highest  fever  on  and  the  red- 
dest face  he  had  ever  seen.  .  .  .  "We  had  a  terrible  scare 
about  the  Dry  Grove  people  a  week  ago.  It  seems  that 
two  of  the  men  there,  in  order  to  deepen  the  pond  on 
which  the  little  mill  at  Dry  Grove  depends  for  water, 
cut  the  dam  and  drew  off  the  little  water  that  was  in 
it,  and  then  turned  in  to  drag  out  the  mud.  The  stench 
was  described  by  Dr.  "West  as  terrific.  In  three  days 
half  of  the  inhabitants  were  flat  on  their  backs,  some 
of  them  ill.  Nearly  all  of  Mr.  Douglas's  family  were 
sick.  In  this  exigency  I  wrote  to  Mrs.  Douglas  (Mr.  * 
Douglas  having  left  home  that  morning,  but  to  return 
in  the  evening)  to  lose  no  time  about  it,  but  to  send 
one  of  the  Castons  immediately  for  my  carriage  and 
to   bring  her   whole   flock  here.      I  said   they  could 


276     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

take  possession  of  the  two  rooms  in  the  library  build- 
ing, where  they  might  keep  house  according  to  their 
own  taste ;  for  they  would  have  to  bring  their  own 
bedding,  cooking  utensils,  and  provisions,  and  do  reg- 
ular '  camping  out'  except  for  the  tents.  Mr.  Doug- 
las returned  home  in  time  to  bring  Mrs.  Douglas  and 
provisions,  etc.,  that  afternoon,  Miss  Carrie  and  the 
children  having  preceded  them  in  my  carriage.  All 
of  the  children,  or  nearly  all,  were  pouring  down  qui- 
nine at  three  to  four  hours'  intervals,  and  Miss  Carrie 
had  to  be  taken  up  bodily  and  placed  in  the  carriage, 
and  two  of  the  children  got  up  from  sick-beds.  The 
change  in  their  condition  is  remarkable.  They  all  ap- 
peared to  be  as  well  as  possible  on  the  morning  after 
their  arrival  here,  and  Miss  Carrie  appears  to  be  as 
well  as  I  ever  saw  her.  I  have  suggested  to  Mr.  Douglas 
that  all  hands  had  best  remain  here  through  September 
and  get  a  good  stock  of  health,  as  they  are  not  in  my 
way  in  the  least.  I  think  they  will  stay,  although  he 
made  no  reply.  I  also  invited  Hugh  Stewart  to  bring 
(I  to  send  for  them)  his  wife  and  Nelly,  as  we  would 
squeeze  them  in  somewhere,  but  they  declined,  feeling, 
as  we  suppose,  too  poor  to  leave  their  property — fowls, 
etc. — to  be  stolen  in  their  absence.  You  cannot  ima- 
gine how  grateful  they  are.  Nelly  stayed  here  the 
night  before  last  and  thanked  me  in  tears.  ...  I  neg- 
lected saying  in  its  proper  place  that  Mr.  Douglas  left 
here  yesterday  morning  with  instructions  from  me  to 
telegraph  to  Tom  to  come  immediately  to  the  assist- 
ance of  his  brother  and  the  governor,  if,  after  seeing 
them  and  consulting  Edward  and  Mrs.  Brown,  that 
step  should  be  deemed  necessary.  The  first  thing  I 
wished  to  know  from  Mr.  Douglas  last  night  was,  had 
he  telegraphed  for  Tom,  and  I  never  heard  the  word 
no  with  so  much  delight." 

A  part  of  the  following  letter  also  bears  on  this  time  : 
"  If  I  undertake  to  say  much  of  my  dear  and  hon- 
ored uncle,  it  will  necessarily  be  a  repetition  of  what 
others  can  say  much  more  ably  than  I,  so  I  will  en- 
deavor to  confine  myself  to  a  few  lines. 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  277 

"  I  knew  him  well  only  after  he  grew  old.  His  old 
age,  like  the  sunset,  was  more  beautiful,  if  less  useful, 
than  the  mid-day.  Age  softened  without  weakening 
his  character.  I  was  much  struck,  in  reading  one  of 
the  last  letters  he  wrote,  with  this  expression,  '  We 
must  have  sympathy  even  with  the  imaginary  troubles 
of  others.'  This  was  hardly  in  accordance  with  my 
previous  knowledge  of  him.  Of  a  healthy  nature,  with 
strong  self-control,  he  thought  (and  rightly)  that  peo- 
ple should  control  their  imaginations ;  that  there  was 
enough  real  trouble  in  the  world  without  any  indul- 
gence in  morbidness.  But,  without  relaxing  his  hold 
over  himself,  he  grew  more  tender  towards  the  weak- 
nesses of  others.  He  was  the  most  thoroughly  natural 
man  I  ever  knew,  without  one  particle  of  affectation. 
Of  course  he  often  refrained  from  uttering  his  senti- 
ments or  opinions,  for  fear  of  giving  pain ;  but  never, 
in  his  whole  life,  I  imagine,  did  he  say  anything  he  did 
not  entirely  feel  with  the  motive  of  pleasing.  Of 
whom  beside  can  we  say  the  same?  Praise  from  him 
might  be  justly  valued,  since  he  sounded  his  mind  and 
weighed  his  words  before  speaking.  He  was  not  irri- 
table or  prone  to  take  offence,  because  he  took  but  little 
heed  of  trivialities,  yet  his  was  no  easy-going  amiability 
that  includes  all  men  and  all  ways  in  its  indolent  charity. 
Meanness,  cruelty,  and  lies  were  so  utterly  abhorrent 
to  him  that  he  needs  must  speak  and  feel  strongly 
against  their  perpetrators. 

"Not  all  the  heavenly  host  sing  eternal  praises.  His 
guardian  spirit  must  have  been  Michael,  the  strong, 
the  terrible,  warning  all  powers  of  evil !  That  light- 
ning glance,  those  words  so  weighty  in  truth,  so  keen 
in  insight,  have  made  many  an  evil-doer  quail  before 
him. 

"  To  see  my  uncle,  in  his  old  age,  performing  the 
homely  duties  of  the  farm  with  the  same  care  and  ex- 
actness he  formerly  bestowed  on  matters  of  great  mo- 
ment ;  to  see  him  doing  the  honors  of  his  plain  board 
with  the  same  courtly  dignity  as  when  it  groaned  in 
luxury;  to  see  him  turn  to  books  with  the  same  judg- 
ment and  interest  he  formerly  bestowed  on  men,  was 

24 


278     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

a  lesson  never  to  be  forgotten.  Circumstances  might 
change,  the  man  did  not ;  loss  of  wealth,  political 
weight,  youth,  even  wife  and  children,  left  him  un- 
shaken. In  that  healthy  mind  and  strong  soul  wounds 
healed,  leaving  scars,  it  is  true,  but  no  sores. 

"We  were  there  during  the  dreadful  plague  of  '78, 
and  I  was  struck  almost  with  awe  by  my  uncle's  won- 
derful foresight  as  to  the  fever  coming  to  so  apparently 
an  unlikely  spot,  his  wise  advice  and  generous  offers  of 
aid  to  others,  which,  if  acted  on,  would  have  saved 
many  valuable  lives  and  prevented  his  own  family 
from  being  exposed  to  infection.  His  sagacity  was 
almost  superhuman ;  but  what  shall  I  call  the  feeling 
which  prompted  him  to  send  his  beloved  daughters 
from  their  place  of  safety  to  nurse  the  very  people 
who  had  rejected  his  aid  while  it  was  yet  time,  and 
even  to  bring  the  plague-stricken  sufferers  into  his  own 
home  ? 

"  I  feel  how  poorly  I  have  expressed  in  these  lines 
the  love  and  admiration  I  felt  for  my  dear  uncle.  I 
pray  that  his  qualities  may  flow  in  every  drop  of  his 
blood  forever ;  so  shall  he  live  and  not  die,  even  on  this 
earth ! 

"Letitia  Dabney  Miller." 

The  yellow  fever  broke  out  in  all  its  virulence  at  Dry 
Grove  in  a  week  from  the  date  of  Thomas's  invitation 
to  his  neighbors  to  take  refuge  at  Burleigh.  Of  the 
first  twenty-nine  cases,  twenty-eight  died.  There  were 
not  enough  well  people  to  nurse  the  sick.  Thomas  re- 
fused to  allow  his  daughters  to  go  to  see  their  sick 
neighbors  merely  to  call,  but  when  they  signified  their 
willingness  to  nurse  them,  he  took  them  to  Dry  Grove 
himself.  He  threw  the  doors  of  Burleigh  open,  and  it 
was  made  headquarters  for  the  Howard  Society.  There 
he  entertained  the  Spanish  physician  sent  by  the  How- 
ards from  New  Orleans,  as  well  as  the  trained  yellow- 
fever  nurses  whom  he  brought  with  him.  All  the  rooms 
in  the  house,  not  excepting  the  dining-room  and  kitchen, 
were  turned  into  sleeping-chambers.  Even  the  gin- 
house  had  its  occupant,  and  throe  children  were  quar- 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  279 

tei'ed  in  the  little  honey-house  among  the  bee-hives. 
They  were  in  quarantine  there,  as  both  the  Burleigh 
house  and  the  cottage  in  the  yard  had  its  fever  patient. 
In  addition  to  the  people  in  the  house  who  had  fled 
there  for  safety  from  the  fever,  one  or  two  convalescents 
came  to  recuperate,  and  the  nurses  came  to  rest  after 
their  patients  had  either  died  or  gotten  well.  There 
were  white  nurses  and  negro  nurses,  and  they  were  of 
both  sexes.  Augustine's  son  Thomas  had  come  on  a 
little  visit  just  before  this  time,  and  seeing  the  trouble 
in  which  his  uncle  was  involved,  resolved,  in  spite  of 
earnest  remonstrance,  to  stay  to  render  any  assistance 
in  his  power.  Augustine's  daughters,  Dannie  and 
Letty  and  her  husband  and  young  children,  were  with 
difficulty  induced  to  leave  us.  They  became  at  length 
convinced  that  their  presence  would  only  add  to  the 
anxiety  and  horror  of  the  time. 

My  father  was  told  that  he  could  not  see  his  ill 
daughter.  His  presence  seemed  to  excite  her  too  much. 
One  day  as  Sophy  opened  the  door  of  the  Bick-room 
she  found  him  standing  there.  "My  child,"  he  said, 
"  when  Sue  falls  asleep  let  me  know.  I  must  see  her. 
I  shall  not  disturb  her."  Accordingly  he  was  sum- 
moned, and  he  got  down  on  his  hands  and  knees  and 
crawled-  from  the  door  across  the  large  room  till  he 
reached  the  bedside.  In  this  humble  posture  he  re- 
mained many  minutes,  occasionally  touching  her  hand, 
which  lay  outside  the  cover,  lightly  with  his  lips. 
"When  she  awoke,  he  said,  "My  child,  if  I  excite  you, 
say  one  word,  go,  and  I  will  go.  If  I  maj'-  stay,  say 
stay."  That  word  was  spoken,  and  he  took  her  hand 
in  both  of  his  and  covered  it  with  his  tears  and  kisses. 

Thomas's  friend,  John  Shelton,  and  his  son  were 
ready  to  come  to  nurse  the  sick  at  Burleigh,  but  were 
informed  that  they  were  not  needed,  as  trained  nurses 
had  arrived  from  the  New  Orleans  hospitals.  Supplies 
of  provisions,  medicines,  and  wines  sent  by  the  North 
and  the  South  were  received  and  distributed  at  the 
Burleigh  door. 

For  miles  people  sent  for  provisions,  for  the  quaran- 
tine regulations  made  it  impossible  to  get  supplies  from 


280     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

the  neighboring  towns.  A  barrel  of  vinegar  that  had 
been  made  as  the  year's  supply  by  the_  family  was  ex- 
hausted in  a  week.  It  required  all  the  time  of  one 
person  to  attend  to  this  part  of  the  business.  Wagons, 
buggies,  and  horses  stood  waiting  at  the  gate  for  the 
doctor  or  nurses  or  provisions,  or  for  all  three.  Sup- 
plies were  exhausted  so  rapidly  that  sometimes  no  meat 
was  to  be  had  for  the  immense  household  except  the 
squirrels  killed  by  my  cousin  Thomas.  And  sometimes 
there  was  no  food  in  the  house  of  any  kind.  As  long 
as  it  held  out  it  was  distributed.  But  the  larder  was 
never  empty  more  than  a  few  hours.  The  "  shot-gun" 
quarantines  at  times  made  it  a  matter  of  peril  to  bring 
us  this  relief.  One  gentleman,  a  prosperous  citizen  of 
Jackson,  himself  drove  a  wagon  filled  with  provisions 
to  our  door,  because  he  could  not  hire  a  driver  to  do  it. 
He  travelled  all  night,  and  arrived  just  in  time  to  avert 
serious  want.  Another  man  was  shot  at  by  his  own 
nephew  because  he  persisted  in  passing  the  picket-line 
which  divided  the  infected  district  from  the  rest  of  the 
country.  Over  one  thousand  dollars  were  sent  by  the 
Howard  associations  in  different  cities  and  by  friends 
to  the  family  at  Burleigh.  Three  of  them  had  the 
fever,  but  all  recovered. 

It  was  found  necessary  during  these  days  of  horror 
to  keep  up  our  spirits,  by  avoiding  as  far  as  possible  all 
reference  to  the  pestilence  and  its  ravages.  At  the 
table,  especially,  such  allusions  were  forbidden.  The 
list  of  deaths  occurring  the  night  before  was  not  to 
be  spoken  of  at  breakfast.  Afterwards  the  names  of 
friends  who  had  just  died  passed  quietly  and  without 
comment  from  mouth  to  mouth.  There  was  no  giving 
way  to  emotions.  A  man  who  had  lost  his  wife  and 
two  children,  a  woman  whose  husband,  mother,  brother, 
and  child  had  died,  a  young  girl  who  saw  eight  mem- 
bers of  her  family  borne  from  the  house,  these,  like  the 
rest,  gave  no  sign. 

It  seemed  so  easy  to  die.  Why  should  we  weep  ? 
We  will  soon  follow  them.  Besides,  there  is  no  time 
for  teai'S.  The  suffering  and  the  dying  are  calling  us. 
And  the  dead  lie  unburied,  wrapped  in  blankets  just  as 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  281 

they  died,  across  the  church  pews,  waiting  for  a  tardy 
coffin  and  a  shallow  grave.  At  last  the  coffins  do  not 
come  fast  enough,  and  many  are  buried  in  goods  boxes 
without  a  prayer  save  the  silent  one  breathed  by  the 
two  men  who  gave  all  their  time  to  these  last  offices. 

Thomas  was  in  his  eighty-first  year,  and  the  strain 
and  anxiety  and  the  labor  he  performed  came  near  kill- 
ing him.  One  day  he  drove  forty  miles  in  passing  back 
and  forth  between  his  house  and  Dry  Grove,  carrying 
fopd  and  fresh  nurses  to  relieve  exhausted  ones.  He 
said  afterwards  many,  many  times  that  he  could  never 
forgive  himself  for  placing  his  children  in  such  a  posi- 
tion of  danger.  His  daughters  had  obtained  his  con- 
sent before  going  into  the  lever-stricken  village  to  nurse 
their  friends.  He  seemed  to  think  he  had  failed  in  his 
duty,  and  never  ceased  to  express  the  deepest  self-con- 
demnation at  having  yielded  his  judgment  to  their 
wishes. 

The  neighborhood  was  desolated  by  the  fever. 
During  preceding  years  family  connections  and  friends 
had  died  or  moved  away,  and  the  circle  of  congenial 
friends,  always  small,  had  grown  smaller  as  time  went 
on.  Under  these  circumstances,  and  as  there  appeared 
to  be  no  hope  of  improvement  in  their  surroundings, 
the  Burleigh  family  resolved  on  leaving  the  old  home 
forever,  as  soon  as  the  last  of  the  debts  were  paid.  A 
sum  of  money  sent  by  Frederick  Dabney  as  a  gift  to 
his  uncle  he  sent  at  once  to  his  creditors.  Still,  three 
years  were  to  elapse  before  the  final  payments  were 
made.  Our  dearest  father  had  been  so  shaken  by  the 
scenes  that  he  and  his  children  had  passed  through 
during  the  fever,  that  we  thought  it  best  to  persuade 
him  to  take  a  change  every  winter  by  going  to  visit 
one  or  other  of  his  married  children.  The  summers 
were  made  pleasant  at  Burleigh  by  the  society  of  his 
affectionate  nieces  and  nephews  and  their  families,  but 
the  winters  were  lonely  and  depressing.  We  were  the 
more  earnest  in  this,  as  during  the  year  1880  he  lost 
three  old  and  valued  friends, — Dr.  Thomas  A.  Cooke,  of 
Louisiana,  Mrs.  Mary  Boy  Cox,  of  Louisiana,  and  Gov- 
ernor A.  G.  Brown,  of  Mississippi.     The  first  two  were 

24* 


282      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

life-long  friends  whom  be  had  first  known  in  Gloucester, 
and  Dr.  Cooke  was  the  dearest  friend  of  his  life. 

T.    S.    D.    TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"  Burleigh,  14th  June,  1879. 

..."  As  you  have  not  seen  that  article  of  mine  and 
can't  get  it,  I  enclose  it  to  you  ;  not  so  much  on  account 
of  anjr  supposed  merit  that  may  attach  to  it  (except 
historically)  as  to  keep  you  and  the  major  up  with 
whatever  I  may  be  about.  The  paper  contains  enough 
of  Buena  Yista  for  one  time,  I  suppose  ;  but,  as  I  know 
a  good  deal  more  about  it  (from  General  Taylor's  own 
lips  to  me  at  Pass  Christian),  I  may  give  you  more  in- 
cidents from  time  to  time.  .  .  .  Three  days  ago  Sue 
asked  me  to  pour  some  boiling  water  from  the  big  tea- 
kettle, which  I  proceeded  to  do,  and  more  than  was  de- 
sired, as  I  turned  the  spout  on  myself,  and  poured  a 
tablespoonful  or  two  in  my  shoe.  As  it  was  impossible 
to  get  the  shoe,  and  particularly  the  sock,  off  until  the 
water  had  cooled  of  itself,  I  have  a  burn  that  will  annoy 
me  for  some  time.  My  foot  is  considerably  swollen  and 
hurts  me  badly,  and,  as  I  cannot  wear  a  shoe,  I  am 
confined  to  the  house,  and  pretty  much  to  my  chair, 
with  my  foot  cocked  up  on  a  pillow  in  another  chair. 
This  gives  me  leisure  to  think  over  my  sins.  Mr.  Root, 
the  great  bee  man  of  the  North,  offers  through  his 
paper  one  dollar  a  quart  for  bees,  to  which  Sophy  has 
responded  by  driving  about  a  peck  into  a  box  and  send- 
ing it  to  him.  .  .  . 

"  A  sad  accident  happened  to  George  Page's  daugh- 
ter Puss  and  her  husband  two  days  ago.  They  had 
some  powder  in  a  trunk,  which  they  attempted  to  take 
out,  in  the  night,  torch  in  hand.  The  powder  ignited 
and  burned  them  both  terribly."  s  .  . 

Thomas  happened  to  have  a  few  pounds  of  ice  in  the 
house  and  some  ice-cream,  which  he  sent  to  the  burnt 
woman.  She  had  not  slept  since  the  accident  occurred, 
thirty-six  hours  before,  and  was  in  much  agony.  The  ice- 
cream and  ice  acted  like  a  charm,  and  she  slept  many 
hours,  awaking  quite  refreshed  late  in  the  next  day. 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  283 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  no  Kansas,"  Puss  said,  when  we 
went  to  see  her.  "  I  would  have  been  dead  now  ef  I 
had  been  in  Kansas,  away  from  marster."* 

It  was  characteristic  of  George  Page  that,  when  some 
of  "  his  young  ladies"  went  to  his  house  on  hearing  of 
the  accident,  he  met  them  at  his  gate  and  made  demon- 
strations of  not  allowing  them  to  enter.  He  and  his 
house  were  not  fit  for  us,  he  expressed  in  his  earnest 
manner.  But  Susan  came  out  with  the  tears  running 
down  her  face  to  take  us  in  and  to  explain  that  we 
must  not  mind  George.  "Heish,  George,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  Didn't  I  sen'  fur  de  ladies  ?  an'  here  you  tell 
'em  not  to  come  in  !  Don't  mind  George,  missis.  He 
dunno  what  he  talkin'  'bout.  Go  'long,  George,  you 
talk  so  foolish." 

Thomas  enjoyed  much  a  visit  from  Bishop  Quintard, 
of  Tennessee,  this  fall.  The  bishop  preached  a  Thanks- 
giving sermon  in  the  little  church  at  Dry  Grove.  Be- 
fore the  sermon  he  said  a  few  very  earnest  words  on 
the  subject  of  the  kneeling  posture  in  prayer.  He  had 
observed  that  many  of  the  congregation  kept  their 
seats  during  the  prayers.  The  country  people  belong- 
ing to  the  denominations  in  that  part  of  the  world  do 
not,  as  a  rule,  kneel  in  church.  Thomas  was  much  im- 
pressed by  what  the.  bishop  said,  and  he  resolved  never 
again  to  fail  to  kneel  at  church  or  in  his  private  devo- 
tions. At  the  next  prayer  nearly  the  whole  congrega- 
tion knelt,  but  the  man  sitting  next  to  Thomas,  an  old 
neighbor,  maintained  his  sitting  posture.  Colonel  Dab- 
ney  gave  him  a  thrust  in  the  side,  and  said,  "  Why  do 
you  not  kneel  down  ?"  On  which  the  man  promptly 
knelt. 

T.    S.    D.    TO    HIS    GRANDDAUGHTER,    SOPHIA   THURMOND. 

"Burleigh,  December  3,  1879. 

"My  dear  Grandchild, — .  .  .  And  I  am  proud  of 
your  standing  in  your  other  classes.  Do  not  be  satisfied 
until  you  reach  the  head  of  all  of  them.     As  some  one 

*  There  was  quite  an  excitement  among  the  negroes  at  this  time  in 
our  part  of  the  State  on  the  subject  of  moving  to  Kansas. 


284     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

must  be  at  the  head,  I  wish  you  to  be  the  one.  Of 
course,  I  see  your  letters  to  your  mother,  and  think 
very  highly  of  them  and  of  your  progress  at  school. 
Continue,  my  dear,  as  you  have  begun,  and  you  will 
never  cease  to  rejoice  over  your  attainments  when  you 
have  become  a  woman." 

T.    S.    D.    TO    HIS   SON   BENJAMIN. 

"  Burleigh,  27th  December,  1879. 

.  .  .  "Many  thanks,  my  dear,  good  boy,  for  your 
thoughtful  presents,  which  are  appreciated  with  a  full 
knowledge  of  the  toil  they  cost  you,  and  the  many  uses 
you  had  for  the  money.  But  j^ou  rather  overdid  it, 
as  one  barrel  of  oysters  and  half  a  barrel  of  oranges 
would  have  been  ample.  Should  I  live  to  afford  you 
the  opportunity  to  repeat  this  thing,  please  be  more 
moderate.  Major  Greene  performed  his  duty  in  exe- 
cuting your  orders,  as  he  selected  himself  the  oysters, 
splendid  single  ones,  and  he  had  the  oranges  gathered 
from  the  trees  on  Monday,  only  two  days  before  they 
came  into  my  hands  ;  and  they  are  the  finest  I  ever 
saw,  their  excellent  quality  being  due  to  their  fresh- 
ness and  to  the  fact  that  our  summer  ran  into  our 
winter  down  to  the  24th  of  December;  the  tempera- 
ture on  that  day,  in  mjT-  passage,  being  up  to  78°. 
John  Dabney  is  expected  to  visit  his  Vicksburg  rela- 
tions within  a  week  or  so  to  spend  a  week,  and  then 
some  of  them  will  come  out  here  for  a  week  on  a  big 
partridge  and  squirrel  hunt.  Marshall  Miller  says  he 
will  certainly  come,  but  the  work  on  the  Vicksburg  jet- 
ties may  prevent  Edward  and  Tom  Greg  from  accom- 
panying him.  I  hope  John  may  be  able  to  come.  He 
is  a  noble  specimen  of  a  man,  and  so  is  Miller."  .  .  . 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER  EMMY. 

"Burleigh,  28th  December,  1879. 

"  My  beloved  Child, — Your  anxiety  to  have  Ben's 
presents  here  in  time  for  Christmas  made  you  under- 
rate, or  disregard,  all  other  considerations.  As  it  hap- 
pened that  Dr.  Douglas  opened  the  mail  on  Tuesday 
and  found  a  card  for  his  son  Taylor  and  a  letter  for 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  285 

me,  both  from  you,  be  immediately  brought  them  to 
me,  so  tbat  I  received  tbe  earliest  possible  information 
of  your  intention  to  send  perishable  things  up  to  me 
on  that  very  day.  Had  he  not  been  at  the  post-office 
I  should  have  remained  in  ignorance  of  these  facts,  as 
it  was  not  convenient  to  us  to  communicate  with  the 
office  on  that  day;  and,  expecting  nothing  particularly, 
a  messenger  would  not  have  been  sent,  and  this  goes 
to  show  that  I  should  have  had  more  notice.  But  I 
got  the  notice,  sent  to  Terry  that  night,  and  had  the 
oysters  in  the  cellar  and  spread  out  before  I  went  to 
bed.  But  I  never  saw  oysters  in  such  a  condition,  as 
they  were  actually  hot,  as  in  a  state  of  fermentation. 
Ida  and  I  turned  in  upon  them  and  separated  the  dead 
from  the  living  (there  being  but  few  of  the  latter)  and 
spread  these  few  on  the  cellar  floor,  and  covered  them 
with  salt  and  meal  and  sprinkled  them  afterwards  with 
water.  These  few  gave  us  soup  for  two  days.  We 
were  so  keen  for  oysters  that  I  opened  some  of  the 
best-looking  fellows  with  open  countenances,  and  had 
them  for  our  breakfast  next  morning.  We  all  escaped 
death ;  Ida's  escape  being  due,  perhaps,  to  her  getting 
clear,  in  a  hurry,  of  oysters,  breakfast  and  all,  by 
throwing  them  up.  The  balance  of  us  managed  to 
hold  on  by  a  tight  squeeze. 

"Please  obseiwe,  my  child,  that  oysters  are  good  at 
other  times  than  on  Christmas  day,  and  had  the  ship- 
ment been  deferred  but  three  days  they  would  have  done 
us  great  service.  And  sufficient  notice  should  never  be 
dispensed  with ;  the  notice,  in  case  of  oysters,  to  run 
as  follows,  viz. :     '  A  barrel  of  oysters  will  be  sent  to 

Terry  for  you  on next  if  the  weather  be  suitable, 

and  if  not,  when  it  becomes  so,  of  which  due  notice 
will  be  given.'  I  am  not  finding  fault  with  you,  my 
dear  child,  and  if  you  think  my  words  imply  fault- 
finding, you  must  forgive  me,  for  I  know  the  misfor- 
tune had  its  origin  in  overzeal  on  your  part  to  promote 
my  happiness  and  tbat  of  your  sisters.  The  oranges 
are  the  very  best  I  ever  saw,  due  to  the  care  in  their 
selection,  and  to  the  fact  that  our  summer  ran  into  our 
winter  down  to  the  24th  of  December. 


286     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

"P.  S. — Don't  let  Ben  know  that  any  accident  hap- 
pened to  the  oysters." 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER  EMMY. 

"Burleigh,  15th  June,  1880. 

"Sophy  and  I  returned  from  Governor  Brown's  yes- 
.terday,  our  admirable  friend  having  died  the  previous 
night  of  apoplexy,  or  something  of  that  nature.  Mrs. 
Brown  was  quite  sick,  and  the  governor  went  to  Terry 
in  the  afternoon  (Saturday)  for  a  doctor  and  some  ice, 
taking  his  carriage-driver  along.  The  doctor  left  im- 
mediately, the  governor  following  soon  after.  Arriv- 
ing at  the  gate  opening  upon  his  lawn,  he  dismounted 
to  open  it,  and  leading  through,  he  again  mounted  the 
horse  and  proceeded  to  the  pond  to  water  him.  In 
about  ten  minutes  afterwards  the  cook  observed  the 
horse  loose,  and  gave  the  alarm.  The  carriage-driver 
went  to  the  pond  immediately,  saw  the  hat  floating 
and  the  governor's  shoulders  and  the  back  of  his  head 
protruding  above  the  water,  which  was  two  feet  deep 
at  that  place.  He  was  in  a  crouching  posture,  his 
arms  thrust  forward  and  downward,  embracing  his 
legs,  and  his  face  submerged.  Neither  his  shoulders 
nor  the  back  of  his  head  had  been  in  the  water.  How 
the  equilibrium  was  maintained  is  a  mystery.  A  doc- 
tor was  there,  who  pronounced  him  dead.  He  was  in 
the  water  not  exceeding  fifteen  minute.s,  perhaps  ten. 
His  lungs  could  not  have  acted  since  the  moment  of 
the  submergence  of  his  face,  as  not  a  drop  of  water 
issued  either  from  his  mouth  or  nose.  He  therefore 
did  not  drown,  neither  did  he  fall  from  his  horse.  Had 
he  fallen,  he  must  have  gone  clear  under.  It  is  sup- 
posed, as  the  only  tenable  conjecture,  that  he  lost  his 
hat,  and  in  attempting  its  recovery  by  means  of  his 
cane,  he  lost  his  balance,  and,  finding  he  must  go,  he 
clung  to  the  horse's  neck  and  mane  until  he  got  his 
feet  into  the  water,  and  then  sunk  down  dead.  He 
had  been  complaining  for  some  days  of  an  undue  deter- 
mination of  blood  to  the  head,  which  Mrs.  Brown  had 
attempted  to  subdue  by  wet  cloths,  etc.  ...  As  he 
was  not  wet  all  over,  he  did  not  fall,  and,  as  not  a  drop 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  287 

of  water  was  in  his  stomach  or  lungs,  he  did  not  drown. 
After  satisfying  myself  fully  on  these  points,  I  told 
Mrs.  Brown  that  the  governor  must  have  been  dead 
by  the  time  he  struck  the  water,  to  which  she  said 
yes.  .  .  .  She  had  decided  on  nothing  further  than  that 
she  would  go  to  Washington.  "We  urged  her  to  make 
Burleigh  her  home  in  the  mean  time,  and  at  her  pleas- 
ure, Sophy  adding  that  either  she  or  Sue  would  go  to 
Chicama  and  stay  with  her,  if  she  preferred  it  to  com- 
ing here.     She  made  no  reply  by  words." 

c 
The  summer  of  1880  was  a  very  happy  one,  the 
house  being  full  of  his  brother's  children  and  grand- 
children and  his  own.  We  had  many  merry  dances, 
in  which  our  dear  father  joined  us  when  we  repre- 
sented to  him  that  he  was  needed  as  a  partner.  He 
never  danced  after  this  summer.  In  the  latter  part 
of  August  he  met  with  an  accident  that  confined  him 
to  his  bed  for  five  months,  and  produced  a  stiffness  of 
the  legs  that  lasted  as  long  as  he  lived.  Happening  to 
be  engaged  in  conversation  as  he  was  about  to  take 
his  seat,  he  moved  backwai'd  to  his  chair  and  sat  by 
the  side  of  it,  instead  of  in  the  seat.  His  fall  was 
heavy,  and  he  struck  his  head  with  force  against  the 
sharp  edge  of  a  door  as  he  went  down.  He  fainted 
four  times  in  quick  succession  from  pain,  and  then  fell 
into  a  five  hours'  sleep,  from  which  it  was  impossible 
to  rouse  him.  We  tried  everything  before  the  doctor 
got  there,  among  other  remedies  putting  mustard- 
plasters  on  the  legs.  In  our  hurry  and  grief  the  plas- 
ters were  forgotten  till  they  had  burned  deeply.  At 
the  end  of  the  sleep  he  awoke  perfectly  in  his  senses, 
and  would  have  been  as  well  as  ever  in  two  days 
but  for  the  mustard-burns.  His  patience  and  bright- 
ness during  this  confinement  were  the  surprise  of  all 
who  visited  him,  for  he  had  led  an  active  life,  and  had 
not  had  the  discipline  of  bodily  suffering.  Not  a  com- 
plaint escaped  his  lips,  although  at  times  the  pain  was 
almost  unbearable,  and  it  was  more  than  once  thought 
that  amputation  only  could  give  him  a  chance  for  his 
life.     He  was  quite  helpless,  of  course,  and  could  not 


288     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

bo  left  alone  during  the  day  or  night.  His  old  ser- 
vants took  care  of  him  at  night  for  weeks,  coming  in 
turn  to  sleep  on  the  floor  by  the  side  of  his  bed  when 
their  day's  work  was  over.  Some  whom  he  had 
thought  ill  of,  and  had  sent  off  the  plantation,  came 
now  and  nursed  him.  On  Sunda}TS  they  came  in  large 
numbers  to  visit  him.  He  was  extremely  gratified  by 
these  spontaneous  attentions.  Books  and  letters  from 
his  children  and  friends  filled  up  the  days. 

In  the  prime  of  his  busy  life  he  had  quite  given  up 
reading  everything  but  newspapers,  but  after  he  no 
longer  had  the  cares  of  a  plantation  he  turned  to  books 
with  almost  the  love  of  a  bookworm.  History  was  his 
preference,  and  he  went  through  the  excellent  and 
rather  large  collection  in  his  library.  Some  of  them 
he  read  many  times.  After  they  were  exhausted  he 
grew  omnivorous  in  his  tastes,  and  read  every  book  that 
came  in  his  way,  frequently  reading  from  morning  till 
night,  and,  unless  his  eyes  were  too  tired,  until  late  at 
night.  His  wonderful  power  of  adapting  himself  to 
changed  circumstances  and  surroundings  was  in  no  way 
more  conspicuously  shown  than  in  this  turning  to  books 
for  entertainment  when  he  was  over  sixty  years  of  age. 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"  Burleigh,  22d  December,  1880. 

"My  beloved  Child, — I  am  confined  to  the  house 
almost  entirely,  walking  out  in  the  yard  two  to  three 
times  in  a  week,  which  I  can  just  do  by  the  help  of 
a  cane,  and  very  slowly  at  that.  But  this  is  a  great  im- 
provement on  confinement  to  one's  bed,  or  the  inca- 
pacity to  walk  at  all.  These  sores  on  my  feet  have 
proved  more  obstinate  than  either  Dr.  West  or  Tom 
anticipated,  although  they  both  knew  that  a  burn  by 
mustard  was  the  worst  of  all.  They  are  tantalizing 
to  the  last  degree,  assuming  a  convalescent  form  for  a 
week  or  two  and  then  falling  back  to  their  old  tricks." 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Burleigh,  16th  September,  1881. 

.  .  .  "We  have  had  a  lively  time  here,  with  the 
biggest  crowd  that  was  ever  in  the  house.    In  addition 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  2S9 

to  Letty's  family,  who  are  here  yet,  we  had  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Tucker's,  from  Jackson  (wife  and  three  children), 
Mrs.  Sidway  and  three  children  and  nurse,  Nanny,  my 
brother's  wife,  Martha,  Kate  Nelson,  a  Miss  Coffey  (a 
friend  of  Tom's,  from  New  Orleans),  and  callers  con- 
stantly coming  in.  The  tables  had  to  be  set  diagonally, 
and  sometimes  three  to  four  had  to  sit  at  a  side-table." 

T.  S.  D.  TO    AUGUSTINE   DABNET. 

"Burleigh,  19th  October,  1881. 
"  I  reached  the  Pass  on  the  night  of  Monday.  I  got 
there  in  a  storm,  and  when  I  awoke  on  Tuesday  morn- 
ing the  equinox  was  upon  us.  The  wind  howled  and 
the  rain  came  down — just  as  it  can  when  it  chooses — 
through  that  day  and  most  of  the  night.  On  Wednes- 
day morning  it  was  not  raining,  hut  there  had  been  no 
abatement  of  the  wind.  It  came  from  the  east,  piling 
the  water  up  in  Lake  Ponchartrain  at  such  a  rate  that 
on  Wednesday  morning  it  was  found  surrounding  the 
Clay  statue  in  New  Orleans.  But  I  had  two  enthusias- 
tic friends  at  the  Pass,  who,  like  myself,  had  gone  there 
to  fish,  and  would  not  be  balked.  They  called  for  me  in 
their  carriage,  and  I  jumped  in,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
being  but  a  boy  myself,  as  you  know.  As  we  knew 
the  woods  were  flooded  and  the  bayous  out  of  their 
banks,  the  only  chance  was  the  railroad  bridge  over 
the  bay  of  St.  Louis ;  and  so  we  struck  out  for  that, 
but,  on  our  arrival  at  the  bridge,  neither  of  my  friends 
would  venture  on  it,  for  fear  of  being  blown  off.  We 
should  then  have  gone  home,  but  did  not.  We  went 
to  one  of  the  bayous,  and  found  it  exactly  as  we 
expected.  We  threw  in,  though  (having  plenty  of 
shrimp),  but  '  nary'  bite  had  we.  We  determined  to 
try  it  lower  down,  where  the  bayou  was  wider,  and 
could  hold  more  water.  But  that  cost  me  a  walk 
through  a  marsh  of  a  mile,  the  grass  from  waist-  to 
shoulder-high,  and  very  stubborn,  and  thick,  and  the 
water  shoe-deep  every  step,  except  when  I  trod  in  a 
hole,  and  then  I  did  not  measure  it.  Meanwhile  I  had 
a  three-gallon  bucket  of  water  to  carry  (with  my 
shrimp)  in  one  hand,  and  my  angle  in  the  other. 
st  25 


290     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

'  Nary'  fish  again !  I  have  a  faint  recollection  of 
getting  out  of  that  marsh,  and  of  drinking  some  ex- 
cellent brandy  in  commemoration  of  the  auspicious 
event ;  and  I  remember,  too,  that  I  went  to  bed  (sick) 
the  next  day,  but  I  have  no  recollection  of  wetting  a 
line  since.  The  fishing  was  wonderfully  fine  after- 
wards, but  I  was  unable  to  go,  although  I  remained  a 
week,  being  too  unwell  to  undertake  the  journey,  and 
I  have  ventured  to  my  garden  but  twice  since  my 
return,  and  was  doubtful  about  getting  back  to  the 
house  the  last  time  I  went." 

In  the  fall  of  1881  Thomas  was  in  New  Orleans 
when  the  great-grandsons  of  General  Lafayette  were 
received  by  the  city.  They  were  informed  that  he 
wished  to  be  presented  to  them,  and  they  gave  him  an 
audience  of  an  hour  before  the  opening  of  the  ball 
which  was  given  in  their  honor  by  the  people  of  New 
Orleans.  He  knew  no  French,  and  these  young  gentle- 
men knew  no  English.  Two  of  Colonel  Dabney's 
daughters  acted  as  interpreters.  The  French  gentle- 
men said  to  him  on  this  occasion  that  he  was  the  only 
person  whom  they  had  met  in  their  tour  through  the 
United  States  who  had  seen  their  great-grandfather, 
the  marquis,  when  he  was  in  this  country.  Thomas 
gave  them  an  account  of  the  dinner  at  Yorktown  given 
to  General  Lafayette,  which  he  had  attended.  He 
amused  them  very  much  by  saying  that  the  cham- 
pagne drunk  on  that  day  laid  many  an  American  on 
the  floor,  but  the  French  guests  were  not  atfected  by 
it,  though  they  drank  quite  as  much  as  their  enter- 
tainers. 

In  December  he  went  to  Bonkam,  Texas,  to  spend  a 
few  months  with  his  son  Benjamin  and  his  family. 

T.  S.  D.  TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   IDA. 

"  BoNHAir,  Texas,  5th  January,  1882. 

...  "I  have  seen  a  rabbit-hunt,  and  found  it  to  be 
very  exciting,  even  under  the  disadvantage  of  being  in 
a  buggy,  and  therefore  incapable  of  joining  in  the 
chase.     But  we  (Ben  and  I)  kept  pretty  well  along,  as 


LIFE  AT  BURLEIGH.  291 

the  scene  was  an  open  prairie,  without  obstruction  to 
the  vision  for  many  miles.  There  were  fourteen  hunts- 
men and  eight  greyhounds,  who  run  by  sight  alone,  as 
you  probably  know.  When  the  quarry  gets  out  of 
their  sight  they  relinquish  the  chase,  as  they  have  no 
sense  of  smell,  or  too  little  to  be  available  on  such  occa- 
sions. The  huntsmen  'breast'  it  across  the  prairie  and 
rouse  the  rabbits  themselves,  the  dogs  taking  no  part 
in  that  portion  of  the  programme.  A  rabbit  being 
roused  by  one  of  them,  he  claps  spurs  to  his  horse  with 
a  yell,  and  puts  right  at  him  at  full  speed,  the  dogs  and 
the  other  huntsmen  rushing  to  that  point  without  loss 
of  time,  and  away  they  go.  Four  of  them  were  caught; 
one  of  them  kept  ahead  of  dogs  and  huntsmen  for  two 
miles  or  more,  but  the  others  were  taken  at  less  dis- 
tance. One  was  not  taken,  and  remains  for  another 
day.  On  the  whole,  I  think  fox-hunting  better,  but 
this  is  the  natural  sport  of  the  prairies." 

It  was  in  February  of  this  year  that  my  father  heard 
with  profound  sorrow  of  the  death  of  his  nephew,  John 
Hampden  Chamberlayne.  This  rarely-gifted  young 
man  had  already  made  his  influence  felt  throughout 
the  State  of  Virginia,  and  he  was  regarded  as  her  ablest 
citizen  among  the  rising  generation.  The  briefest 
notice  of  Hampden  Chamberlayne  would  be  incom- 
plete without  some  mention  of  his  incomparable  powers 
as  a  conversationalist.  Persons  familiar  with  the  most 
brilliant  society  of  the  Old  World  have  declared  that 
he  would  have  shone  pre-eminent  and  almost  without 
a  peer  in  London  or  in  Paris.  In  heart  and  character 
he  was  as  richly  endowed  as  in  mind,  and  his  big- 
hearted,  loving  ways  won  the  enduring  affection  of  all 
his  Southern  kinsfolk.  He  had  already  sent  loving 
messages  of  welcome  to  his  uncle's  family  in  anticipa- 
tion of  seeing  them  settled  in  a  home  so  near  his  own, 
and  had  promised  to  come  to  Baltimore  as  soon  as  he 
heard  of  my  father's  arrival  there. 


292     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

T.  S.  D.  TO   HIS    NIECE,  MARTHA    C.  DABNET. 

"New  Orleans,  24th  February,'l882. 

"  Mr  beloved  Niece, — Sophy  sent  me  your  sweet 
letter,  and  as  every  member  of  my  household  is  always 
hungry  for  anything  that  comes  from  you,  I  placed  the 
letter  immediately  on  its  travels  again,  sending  it  to 
Bonham,  Texas,  where  Sue  now  is,  and  where  she  will 
be  until  about  the  1st  of  April,  when  she  and  those 
still  at  Burleigh  will  pull  up  stakes  for  their  final  and 
permanent  removal  to  Baltimore.  I  will  remain  h'ere 
until  warm  weather,  as  I  find  that  my  capacity  to  gen- 
erate heat  has  become  much  enfeebled  within  the  last 
two  to  three  years,  or  ever  since  the  epidemic  at  Dry 
Grove.  I  was  with  the  dead  and  dj-ing  there  many 
days  before  Sue  was  stricken,  and  then,  although  she 
recovered,  the  strain  on  my  whole  system  was  so  in- 
tense as  to  leave  me  pretty  much  a  child,  physically, 
when  it  relaxed.  I  have  never  recovered  from  it,  and 
was  ten  to  fifteen  years  older  within  a  week  or  two ; 
but  they  are  taking  good  care  of  me,  and  affect  to  ex- 
pect to  tide  me  over  several  sand-bai's  yet.  They  are 
good  children,  these  of  mine,  and  the  same  may  be 
said,  of  my  nieces  and  nephews,  for  I  cannot  discover 
the  difference  in  affection  between  the  two  sets.  I  am 
here  with  Emmy.  The  profession  of  Major  Greene 
allows  him  very  little  time  for  his  family.  Emmy  is 
delightfully  situated  within  the  French  district,  but 
within  easy  walking  distance  of  Canal  Street,  and  in  a 
French  boarding-house,  where  her  children  are  re- 
stricted to  the  French  language." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

QUIET   DATS. 

In  April  the  Burleigh  family  moved  to  Baltimore. 
Our  dear  father  was  with  his  daughter  Emmy,  and  did 
not  come  to  join  us  in  the  simple  home  till  November. 


QUIET  DAYS.  293 

By  this  time  we  had  made  it  as  comfortable  and  home- 
like as  his  limited  means  would  allow. 

T.  S.  D.  TO   HIS    DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"  Baltimore,  Sth  December,  1882.     98  John  Street. 

"  Thanksgiving-Day  gave  Virginius  a  good  chance 
to  close  the  doors  of  his  school  for  four  days.  He  de- 
voted those  four  days  to  me,  coming  down  on  Wednes- 
day night  and  remaining  until  Sunday  night,  when  he 
returned  home.  Those  were  four  happy  daj'S  to  all  of 
us.  He  brought  his  son  Nolan  to  show  him  to  me,  as 
I  used  to  take  one  of  my  children  every  other  year  to 
Virginia  to  show  to  their  grandmother.  My  grandson 
Nolan  is  a  very  fine  boy,  indeed.  As  the  Christmas 
holidays  in  the  schools  in  New  York  last  two  weeks, 
Virginius  will  come  here  then  for  some  days.  .  .  .  Our 
cousin,  Mary  Smith,  wrote  to  Sue  a  few  days  ago  that 
she  would  send  her  a  teapot  with  a  broken  spout,  some 
cracked  glass,  and  some  chipped  china.  A  hogshead 
and  a  box  arrived  yesterday,  and  was  found  to.  contain 
the  teapot,  sure  enough,  and  some  splendid  glass 
(cracked,  to  be  sure,  but  we  had  to  hunt  for  the 
cracks),  with  a  good  deal  that  is  not  cracked.  The 
china  consists  of  a  full  set  of  dinner  dishes  and  plates 
(four  dozen  plates,  I  suppose),  and  dishes  for  all  pur- 
poses,— for  the  largest  fish  and  sirloin  and  round  of 
beef  and  vegetables.  There  are  some  exquisite  glass 
pitchers  and  peculiar  tumblers  and  other  things  in  the 
glass  line,  not  cracked  at  all.  Of  chipped  china,  I  sup- 
pose there  may  be  half  a  dozen  plates,  with  little  specks 
chipped  off  the  edges,  that  you  mus.t  look  for  to  see. 
"Well,  those  things  only  filled  the  hogshead  two-thirds 
full,  and  that  little  crack  was  filled  with  table-cloths, 
napkins,  and  other  things  that  I  do  not  know  the  name 
of.  The  box  contained  the  most  exquisite  parlor-chair 
I  ever  saw.  Mary  writes  that  she  will  make  another 
consignment  shortly!     She  is  a  good  girl,  decidedly. 

"Last  night,  cold  as  it  was,  Lelia  (you  know  she 
never  allows  anything  to  turn  her)  went  three-quarters 
of  a  mile  or  more  to  attend  some  society  of  which  she 
is  a  member,  and  was  half  frozen  when  she  got  back. 

25* 


294     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

She  said  the  wind — a  keen  northwester — blew  her 
dress  up  above  her  knees  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  the 
contrary.  An  old  gentleman  running  near  them  (there 
were  three  girls  with  Lelia)  had  his  hat  blown  off  in 
spite  of  his  efforts  to  keep  it  on,  and  it  gave  the  four 
girls  some  trouble  to  recover  the  hat,  but  they  perse- 
vered until  they  captured  it. 

"  I  look  out  of  the  window  at  the  ice  and  snow  and 
at  the  car-drivers  and  others  in  the  street,  all  muffled 
up  to  the  chin  and  nose,  and  I,  meantime,  in  a  temper- 
ature of  seventy  degrees,  unconscious,  personally,  of 
winter,  except  for  the  glowing  fires  in  the  stoves,  that 
keep  the  whole  house  at  about  seventy  degrees  through- 
out the  day  and  most  of  the  night.  So  you  see  the 
climate  of  Baltimore  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence  to 
me  at  all.  I  have  about  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
should  I  ever  be  able  to  divide  my  time  between  the 
North  and  South,  I  would  make  Baltimore  my  winter 
and  Pass  Christian  my  summer  home.  But  this  can 
never  be,  of  course.  .  .  .  The  people  here  suit  me  en- 
tirely. The  neighbors  met  me  for  the  first  time  as  if 
they  had  known  me  always.  The  city  is  full  of  poor 
Virginians,  made  poor  by  the  war,  and  being  poor  and 
well  bred,  all  ostentation  is  tabooed,  and  they  give  you 
what  they  have  without  apology." 

T.  S.  D.  TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Baltimore,  98  John  Street,  1883. 

...  "As  my  acquaintance  extends  I  find  that  the 
girls  made  no  mistake  when  they  elected  Baltimore  as 
their  future  home.  I  say  their,  because  I  cannot  expect 
to  enjoy  it  with  them  very  long;  but  it  is  my  wish  to 
have  a  good  place  whilst  I  am  with  them,  and  with 
the  hope  of  seeing  you  and  your  dear  little  ones  some- 
times." 

T.  S.  D.  TO    HIS    DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Baltimore,  5th  January,  1883.     98  JonN  Street. 

"My  beloved  Child, — My  birthday  dinner  wound 
up  with  a  snow-storm  last  night,  and  the  wind  this 


QUIET  DAYS.  295 

morning  is  pretty  sharp,  but  it  does  not  affect  me  in 
this  house.  Yirginius  came  on  the  3d  to  be  in  time, 
and  we  had  the  pastor  of  this  parish  and  his  wife  (Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Dame)  to  join  our  family.  The  girls  gave  us 
a  very  fine  dinner, — a  turkey  that  the  dealer  in  the 
market  could  not  sell,  because  it  was  too  large,  Sophy 
bought ;  and  a  noble  gobbler  he  was,  and  elegantly 
cooked.  A  ham  of  bacon  and  vegetables  constituted 
the  first  course  after  soup.  The  best  plum-pudding  I 
ever  tasted,  with  other  things,  then  came  in,  to  be  suc- 
ceeded by  oranges,  apples,  etc.,  to  wind  up  with  coffee. 
We  were  at  the  table  two  and  one-half  hours,  and  well 
employed  all  the  time.  Mrs.  M.,  aunt  of  Yirginius's 
wife,  and  a  splendid  woman  she  is,  dropped  in  while  we 
were  discussing  the  pudding,  and  was  induced  to  take 
a  seat  at  our  table.  I  had  called  on  her  on  the  1st  of 
January  in  conformity  to  the  custom  in  these  cities.  I 
had  previously  called  at  S.  T.'s,  and  wound  up  at  two 
other  houses,  when  I  broke  down,  and  could  not  call 
on  other  ladies  with  whom  I  have  become  acquainted, 
but  all  of  them  most  kindly  excuse  me  on  such  occa- 
sions on  account  of  my  age,  and  come  to  see  me  in  the 
most  kind  and  polite  way.  I  receive  such  attentions 
constantly.  ...  It  does  me  more  good  than  I  can  well 
describe  to  see  Yirginius.  He  comes  in  with  open 
arms,  with  which  he  encloses  me,  and  then  kisses  me 
with  the  fervor  of  a  lover  when  first  accepted.  He 
kisses  me  and  lets  me  go,  and  then  kisses  me  again.  It 
makes  my  old  heart  quiver.     But  I  kiss  him  in  turn !" 

T.  S.  D.  TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"  Baltimore,  8th  January,  1883,  6  p.m. 

"My  beloved  Child, — We  are  enjoying  winter  in  all 
its  loveliness,  as  I  am  still  boy  enough  to  enjoy  snow. 
If  I  had  to  attend  market  before  day  with  a  few  vege- 
tables, on  the  sale  of  which  the  daily  bread  of  a  wife 
and  half-dozen  children  depended,  it  is  more  than  prob- 
able that  my  taste  would  be  different.  But,  as  it  is, 
the  sight  of  falling  snow  exhilarates  and  elevates  my 
spirits." 


296      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

T.  S.  D.  TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Baltimore,  21st  January,  1883.     98  John  Street. 

..."  Snow  has  lain  on  the  ground  for  two  weeks, 
and  the  Baltimoreans  have  been  using  sleighs  for  that 
length  of  time,  with  a  prospect  of  continuance,  as  it  is 
very  cold  now,  with  a  prospect  of  heavy  snow  to-night. 
But  these  things  do  not  concern  me,  as  I  am  not  obliged 
to  go  out,  and  so  I  keep  my  shins  warm,  read  and 
write,  and  feed  the  sparrows  from  the  dining-room 
window.  ...  I  am  more  and  more  pleased  with  Balti- 
more and  the  Baltimoreans." 

T.  S.  D.  TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Baltimore,  98  John  Street,  February  20,  1883. 

"My  darling  Child, — Something,  I  do  not  know 
what,  turned  my  attention  to  the  condition  of  these 
four  single  daughters  of  mine  on  yesterday,  and  made 
me  shudder.  With  all  of  Ida's  energy,  Burleigh  has 
proved  inadequate  to  their  support,  as  she  has  been 
forced  to  spend  most  of  the  rents  in  building  houses, 
digging  wells  or  cisterns  or  ditches,  and  clearing  up 
the  creeks  and  bayous,  and  this  work  is  far  from  being 
completed  yet.  I  pictured  to  myself  what  would  be- 
come of  these  daughters  if  I  died,  with  my  old  will 
of  fifteen  to  twenty  years  ago  left  in  my  desk  as  my 
last  will  and  testament.  Under  that  will  the  Burleigh 
estate  would  have  to  be  divided  into  nine  equal  parts, 
as  near  as  mia;ht  be,  each  of  my  children  taking  one 
part,  except  Yirginius,  who,  I  thought,  had  had  his 
share.  If  the  whole  estate  has  proved  inadequate  to 
the  support  of  four,  how  could  these  four  support 
themselves  on  four-ninths,  and  these  chopped  tip  into 
detached  pieces?  I  saw  at  once  that  something  had 
to  be  done,  and  that  quickly,  and  I  did  it  this  morn- 
ing without  the  slightest  suggestion  from  any  one.  I 
now  wonder  why  it  took  me  so  long  to  see  it.  What 
fearful  risks  I  have  gone  through  during  the  last  few 
years,  and  yet  have  lived  to  do  it !  As  all  of  my 
children  (and  I  devoutly  thank  God  for  it),  except 
these  four,  are  now  able  to  take  care  of  themselves, 


QUIET  DAYS.  297 

and  are  taking  care  of  themselves,  I  made  a  new  will 
this  morning,  leaving  the  Burleigh  plantation  and  all 
that  is  on  it,  and  the  furniture  that  is  here,  to  these 
four  daughters  of  mine  and  Sophy's  daughter  Sophia. 
The  silver  is  to  be  divided  equally  among  my  ten  chil- 
dren, after  taking  out  the  large  urn,  which  I  give  to 
you,  and  this  is  the  only  earthly  thing  that  I  have  to 
bestow  on  my  dear  children,  and  that  could  not  be 
divided.  To  avoid  mistakes,  I  will  state  that  the  urn 
must  be  considered  as  your  share  of  the  silver,  the  rest 
to  be  divided  among  the  other  nine,  so  that  each  one 
will  have  something  with  my  initials  cut  on  it.  This 
is  the  best  I  could  do,  and  I  have  no  doubt  about  the 
others  being  satisfied  at  your  having  the  lion's  share, 
as  some  one  had  to  get  it,  and  none  more  worthy  than 
you,  whom  I  picked  out  to  have  it,  having  the  un- 
doubted right  to  do  so. 

"I  hope,  my  darling,  that  you  will  approve  the 
whole  will,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  do  so  after  thinking 
over  the  matter  a  little." 

T.  S.  D.  TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"  Baltimore,  22d  March,  1883.     98  John  Street. 

"My  darling  Child, — I  cannot  thank  you  suffi- 
ciently for  your  sweet,  loving  letter  of  the  18th,  just  re- 
ceived from  your  quiet,  delicious  home  at  McComb. 
Those  two  arm-chairs,  called  mine  by  you,  remaining 
still  in  the  front  porch  and  awaiting  my  occupancy, 
must  remain  without  my  corporeal  occupancy  yet  a 
little  longer,  perhaps  indefinitely;  but  my  heart  hovers 
over  them  and  every  crack  and  cranny  of  that  estab- 
lishment without  ceasing;  not  that  I  lack  loving  hearts 
here,  for  they  hover  round  me  and  anticipate  every 
imaginable  want  of  mine,  as  though  I  was  an  infant, — 
as  I  am  indeed  in  too  many  respects.  They  have  to 
undress  and  dress  me  partially  every  night  and  morn- 
ing. I  am  getting  old,  old,  old,  faster  and  faster,  having 
been  broken  down  again  by  a  very  severe  attack  of 
cold  when  in  New  York.  I  went  too  early,  and  was 
caught  by  the  three  worst  weeks  of  the  winter.  When 
I  said  I  had  to  return  home  Yiro-inius  considered  it 


298      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

necessary  for  him  to  accompany  me,  and  he  accordingly 
delivered  me  into  my  arm-chair  that  now  stands  before 
me  before  he  let  me  go. 

"My  first  two  weeks  in  ISTew  York  were  most  royally 
spent.  I  dined  at  No.  4  twice,  and  they  had  another 
dinner  on  the  tapis  for  the  day  before  my  departure, 
but  I  had  to  decline  on  account  of  serious  indisposition. 
Yirginius,  Anna,  and  my  grandchildren  hovered  over 
me  as  a  hen  would  over  a  sick  chicken,  and  left  me 
nothing  to  ask  for  or  to  wish  for,  so  that  I  was  not 
reminded  while  there  that  I  had  lived  too  long." 

The  stiffness  of  our  dearest  father's  limbs  made  it  so 
painful  for  him  to  kneel  that  we  begged  him  not  to  at- 
tempt it  at  family  prayers.  Soon  it  grew  to  be  impos- 
sible. One  Sunday,  as  one  of  his  daughters  sitting 
next  him  in  church  asked  him  to  go  to  the  communion 
with  her,  he  said  that  he  could  not,  because  he  would 
not  be  able  to  get  up  if  he  knelt  at  the  altar-rail.  She 
answered  that  he  could  receive  it  standing,  and  she 
would  stand  with  him.  He  feared  that  the  rector 
would  not  approve,  and  asked  her  not  to  fail  to  explain 
to  him  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  chancel.  This  she 
did,  although  the  rector's  look  showed  that  he  under- 
stood, and  no  explanation  was  needed.  As  he  turned  to 
walk  to  his  seat,  there  were  some  moist  eyes  in  the  city 
church,  where  he  was  comparatively  a  stranger.  During 
the  last  two  years  of  his  life  he  might  be  seen  on  com- 
munion Sundays  standing  to  receive  the  sacred  elements, 
the  snowy  head  bent  in  prayer.  A  bishop  said  that  the 
venerable  standing  figure  preached  many  sermons. 

The  following  account  of  one  of  his  Scott  County 
hunts  was  written  by  Thomas  at  the  request  of  a 
friend : 

"  Baltimore,  Md.,  April  17, 1883. 
"  Mt  dear  Sir, — In  conformity  to  your  request,  I 
subjoin  an  account  of  some  of  my  camping  experiences 
in  Scott  County.  ...  I  procured  a  tent  large  enough 
to  accommodate  twelve  persons,  took  a  small  four-horse 
wagon,  to  which  I  attached  four  fine  mules,  and  took  a 
man  alon»;  besides  the  wagoner,  to  take  charge  of  the 


QUIET  DAYS.  299 

first  deer  that  I  might  kill,  and  save  me  from  packing 
any  until  I  had  killed  two.  I  had  a  box  made,  into 
which  my  gun  and  rifle  fitted  perfectly,  so  that,  no 
matter  how  rough  the  road  might  be,  they  were  se- 
cured against  chafing;.  From  the  time  that  I  left  Scott 
until  a  year  later  the  cover  never  came  off  that  gun, 
so  that  the  first  deer  that  I  might  kill  the  next  fall 
fell  by  a  load  that  had  been  in  the  gun  twelve  months. 
I  had  always  thought  such  rounds  more  effective  than 
those  more  recently  put  in. 

"  But  you  want  to  hear  about  that  remarkable  hunt. 
It  was  the  last,  or  next  to  the  last,  of  my  series  of 
eight  years  in  Scott. 

"  Our  '  regulars'  were  on  hand,  as  usual,  on  the 
Friday  after  the  first  Monday  in  November.  We 
pitched  our  tents  on  the  east  of  Line  Prairie,  and 
stuck  our  pegs  in  the  same  holes  that  they  had  occu- 
pied for  the  first  two  or  three  previous  years,  as  we 
could  not  hope  to  find  a  better  location, — good  water 
at  hand  and  abundance  of  game.  We  would  start 
out  from  camp  '  in  line'  a  quarter-  to  a  half-mile  long, 
breasting  it  round  the  prairie,  and  it  would  take  us  all 
day  to  make  the  circuit.  I  have  many  a  time,  after 
'  drawing  a  bead'  on  a  fine  doe  that  had  jumped  up 
within  three  feet  of  my  horse's  nose,  replaced  my  gun 
across  my  lap  upon  finding  that  no  horns  were  on  the 
head  of  the  quarry.  This,  perhaps,  will  give  you  a 
better  idea  of  the  number  of  deer  to  be  found  in  that 
locality  at  that  time  than  anything  else  that  I  could 
say.  I  did  not  do  that  every  time,  but  only  after  I  had 
killed  a  certain  number,  and  was  tired.  I  then  went 
for  the  bucks  alone. 

"As  I  have  said,  we  formed  in  line,  thirty  to  fifty 
yards  apart,  and  moved  forward  as  the  word  reached 
us  from  the  captain,  who  occupied  the  centre ;  but  at 
the  report  of  a  gun  every  man  suddenly  stopped.  If  a 
deer  was  killed,  one  or  two  neai'est  to  the  shooter  went 
to  him  to  viscerate  and  help  to  throw  the  deer  on  his 
horse,  when  he,  having  reloaded  and  remounted,  would 
shout  out  '  go  ahead,'  and  the  line  again  moved  for- 
ward.    It  was  a  rule  that  no  one  should  move  until 


300     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

the  word  came  ;  but  this  rule  required  no  enforcing,  as 
to  be  in  advance  of  the  line  would  be  to  occupy  a  very 
dangerous  position. 

"  On  one  occasion  a  dozen  harum-scarum  fellows 
joined  our  party  when  we  were  but  one  day  out.  We 
had  but  little  knowledge  of  some  of  them,  and  none  of 
others.  They  set  all  rules  at  defiance,  tearing  through 
the  woods  in  all  directions,  sometimes  observing  our 
line  of  march,  and  sometimes  meeting  us.  How  it 
happened  that  none  of  them  were  killed  is  a  mystery. 
One  of  them  shot  the  horse  of  another,  and  seemed  to 
think  it  was  part  of  the  fun.  As  one  of  our  party  was 
passing  within  two  or  three  feet  of  a  large  post-oak, 
the  bark  of  the  tree  was  thrown  so  violently  against 
his  face  as  to  hurt  him,  and  two  buckshot  were  after- 
wards found  in  the  horn  of  his  saddle, — all  the  work  of 
one  of  those  fellows.  We  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and 
upon  our  suggesting  that  we  could  do  better  in  two 
pai'ties  they  left  us.  But  they  had  interfered  with  our 
hunt,  almost  consuming  one  of  the  three  days  of  that 
memorable  hunt.  At  the  end  of  the  third  day,  how- 
ever, finding  that  we  had  killed  and  hung  up  ninety- 
three  deer,  a  proposition  was  made  that  we  should 
start  next  morning  for  the  public  road,  six  miles  off 
(and  so  far  on  our  way  home),  and  it  was  agreed  to. 
We  accordingly  gave  the  necessary  instructions  to  our 
servants,  and  struck  out  by  compass  for  a  certain  point 
on  the  public  road,  and  missed  it  by  very  little. 

"  When  about  to  start,  some  one  remarked  that  we 
must  get  the  other  seven,  to  which  another  replied, 
'  We  will  do  that  and  not  half  try.'  We  got  thirteen. 
We  had  not  proceeded  more  than  one  mile  before  I 
had  killed  three,  and  the  hunt  was  closed.  ...  I  can- 
not close  without  giving  you  some  account  of  one  of 
our  '  regulars.'  His  name  was  Mount,  the  most  hare- 
brained, crazy  fellow  in  the  woods  I  ever  saw,  and  but 
for  his  good  nature  and  willingness  at  all  times  to  take 
hold  of  anything  and  everything  heavy  or  dirty,  and 
to  make  himself  useful  generally  and  particularly,  he 
could  not  have  been  tolerated,  as  it  was  dangerous  to 
hunt  with  him.     Towards  the  last,  and  for  some  time, 


QUIET  DATS.  301 

no  one  but  myself  would  ride  next  to  him,  and  I  re- 
quired him  to  ride  at  my  left  side.  He  would  shoot  at 
the  flash  of  a  deer's  tail,  without  estimating  the  dis- 
tance, and  he  was  known  to  use  up  a  bag  of  buckshot 
in  every  hunt  of  several  days'  duration,  and  often  had 
to  go  to  Hillsborough  for  a  fresh  supply.  On  one  occa- 
sion, he  and  I  being  close  together,  he  crippled  a  buck 
(for  he  killed  one  occasionally),  and  although  a  deer 
was  already  tied  to  his  saddle,  he  raised  the  shout  of 
an  Indian,  clapped  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  was  off  at 
full  speed,  I  after  him.  He  flushed  a  little  deer  that 
took  the  back  track,  but  Mount  saw  him,  and  without 
drawing  rein,  or  turning  his  head,  threw  his  gun  over 
his  shoulder  and  let  fly;  but  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  was 
a  little  depressed  below  the  perpendicular,  and  no  harm 
was  done  either  to  the  deer  or  to  me.  I  could  fill  a  dozen 
pages  with  Mount's  pranks,  but  must  let  this  suffice." 

At  this  time  my  father  got  into  a  correspondence 
with  a  distant  kinsman,  Mr.  William  H.  Dabney,  of 
Boston,  whom  he  had  never  met.  He  was  now  in  his 
eighty-fifth  year,  but  he  enjoyed  this  correspondence, 
and  kept  it  up  with  the  freshness  of  youth.  A  few  se- 
lected from  his  many  letters  to  Mr.  Dabney  will  show 
this. 

T.  S.  D.  TO   WILLIAM    H.  DABNEY. 

"Baltimore,  29th  June,  1883. 

"  My  son,  Yirginius  Dabney,  of  New  York,  has  for- 
warded to  me  your  letter  of  the  25th  inst.,  in  which 
my  name  is  mentioned  as  the  oldest  known  member  of 
the  Dabney  family,  and  I  presume  I  will  have  to  accept 
the  patriarchal  position,  as  I  am  in  my  eighty-sixth 
year,  having  been  born  on  the  4th  of  January,  1798.  I 
have  read  your  letter  with  great  interest  and  pleasure, 
although  restraining  with  difficulty  a  blush  at  my  utter 
inability  to  aid  you  in  your  labor  of  love.  .  .  .  But  I 
do  know  something  of  my  family. 

"I  know  that  my  grandfather  lived  on  the  east  bank 
of  the  Pamunkey  River,  in  King  William  County ;  that 
he  had  a  numerous  family  of  sons  and  daughters,  some 
of  whom  remained  on  the  paternal  acres,  as  they  were 

26 


302     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

divisible.  Others  went  to  Cumberland  County  with  a 
Mr.  Thornton,  who  married  one  of  the  daughters.  My 
father,  Benjamin,  who  was  a  lawyer,  removed  to  York 
River,  and  afterwards  to  North  River,  in  Gloucester 
County,  where  he  died  in  1806.  His  eldest  brother, 
George,  retained  the  mansion-house  on  the  Pamunkey 
River,  known  during  the  war,  as  before  and  since,  as 
Dabney's  Ferry.  Two  other  sons,  Dr.  James  Dabney 
and  Major  Thomas  Dabney,  lived  and  died,  the  first  on 
North  River  in  Gloucester  County,  and  the  other  near 
Aylett's  in  King  William. 

"  Should  any  matter  of  business  or  pleasure  draw 
you  to  Baltimore,  you  will  please  make  my  house  your 
home  for  the  time.  .  .  .  Have  you  read  Dick  Taylor's 
book  (General  Richard  Taylor's),  'Destruction  and 
Reconstruction'  ?  If  not,  I  advise  you  to  get  it,  as  the 
best  and  most  readable  book  that  the  civil  war  has 
brought  out, — better  written,  interesting,  and  fresh  as 
a  novel,  with  the  impress  of  truth  on  every  line. 

"  There  is  not  a  doubt  in  my  mind  but  that  Grant 
saved  this  country  from  some — God  only  knows  how 
much — of  the  scenes  of  the  French  Revolution.  Andy 
Johnson,  with  Morton  and  Stanton,  backed  by  other 
hyenas  of  the  Senate,  were  for  blood.  They  were  out- 
spoken for  making  '  treason  odious'  by  punishing  the 
leaders  of  the  'rebellion.'  Think  of  having  R.  E.  Lee, 
Joseph  E.  Johnston,  Stonewall  Jackson  hung!  Could 
any  Southern  man  or  woman  have  stood  by  and  looked 
on  quietly?  Could  many  Northern  men  have  looked 
on  with  hands  in  their  pockets?  Did  the  twenty-two 
Girondins  and  Danton  and  Robespierre  expect  their 
turn  to  come,  and  so  soon,  when  they  saw  the  guillotine 
doing  its  work  so  glibly  on  Louis  and  Marie  Antoinette? 
Does  it  not  make  the  heart  sick  to  think  of  what  we 
have  escaped,  and  so  narrowly?  When  Andy  Johnson 
announced  his  intention  to  make  treason  odious,  Grant 
said  NO,  and  the  power  behind  the  throne  was  greater 
than  the  throne  itself.  Lee  was  allowed  to  retire  with- 
out even  giving  up  his  sword  or  even  formally  to  ac- 
knowledge himself  as  on  parole  (that  is  my  impression) ; 
but  men  of  their  style  consider  themselves  as  much 


quiET  DAYS.  303 

bound  by  a  tacit  understanding  as  by  a  formal  one 
under  oath  and  bond.  How  grand  and  lovely  is  that 
idea,  and  how  worthy  of  such  men !  But  perhaps,  my 
dear  cousin  (if  I  may  take  so  great  a  liberty  as  to  call 
you  so),  I  am  giving  you  more  than  you  bargained  for. 
It  is  quite  certain  that  I  have  strayed  very  wide  of 
the  original  object  of  this  correspondence,  and  I  will 
therefore  return  to  it  by  the  recital  of  a  single  anecdote 
in  which  my  branch  of  the  Dabney  family  is  concerned, 
for  I  see  plainly  that  this  is  not  the  last  letter  with 
which  I  shall  have  to  trouble  you. 

"  Mr.  Philip  Tabb,  of  Gloucester,  of  whom  you  may 
have  heard,  when  on  his  way  to  the  "White  Sulphur 
Springs,  fell  in  with  a  great-uncle  of  mine,  James 
Dabney,  and  they  not  only  put  up  at  the  same  inn,  but 
were  put  into  the  same  room.  As  they  were  undressing, 
Mr.  Tabb  did  not  fail  to  observe  that  he  was  in  the 
company  of  a  man  of  extraordinary  physical  power, 
and  his  curiosity  prompted  him  to  ask  my  uncle  to  be 
so  good  as  to  strip  to  his  shirt,  as  he  wished  to  see  and 
feel  his  muscular  development.  This  was  done  with  a 
laugh,  and  then  Mr.  Tabb  asked  him  if  he  had  ever 
struck  a  man,  thinking,  obviously,  that  the  man  must 
have  been  killed.  '  Yes,'  was  the  reply  ;  '  I  struck  one, 
and  came  near  being  whipped  for  my  impudence.'  Of 
course  he  had  to  tell  the  story.  He  had  occasion  to 
make  a  journey  of  eighty  to  ninety  miles  from  home 
(on  horseback,  of  course),  and  on  the  wa}"  ho  observed 
a  very  mean  cornfield, — mean  from  neglect,  obviously, 
— and  having  some  negroes  working  in  it  (or  affecting 
to  do  so).  He  inquired  who  was  their  overseer.  Upon 
being  told,  he  said  to  the  negroes,  '  Tell  your  overseer 
that  I  will  return  day  after  to-morrow,  and  will  give 
him  a  whipping  for  not  having  his  corn  in  better  order.' 
'Yes,  master!'  shouted  the  negroes  in  chorus,  showing 
their  teeth  from  ear  to  ear.  He  returned  on  time,  and 
on  approaching  the  place  he  observed  a  man  sitting  on 
the  fence,  facing  the  road.  Eemembering  his  message, 
he  measured  the  man  with  his  eyes,  and  saw  that  he 
was  no  baby.  He  had  been  observed,  too,  and  recog- 
nized as  the  gentleman  to  whom  he  was  indebted  for 


304     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

the  message.  He  accordingly  slipped  off  the  fence 
(the  negroes  coming  to  it  at  the  same  time),  and  with 
a  bow  asked  my  uncle  if  he  was  the  gentleman  who 
had  left  a  message  for  him  two  days  ago.  He  acknowl- 
edged it  with  a  laugh,  and  tried  to  turn  it  off  with  a 
laugh,  and  as  a  joke,  but  the  overseer  was  no  joker, 
and  told  him  that  he  had  to  make  good  his  promise, 
taking  hold  on  his  bridle  and  inviting  him  to  dismount, 
which  he  had  to  do.  All  the  rules  of  chivalry  wei*e 
observed.  The  horse  was  tied  to  a  limb  of  a  tree,  and 
both  knights  (!)  went  at  it.  My  uncle  told  Mr.  Tabb 
that  he  was  fairly  whipped  twice,  and  on  the  point  of 
giving  up,  but  his  pride  came  to  his  aid,  and  he  held  on 
until  the  overseer  stopped  battering  him,  and  said  he 
thought  they  had  better  quit,  and  he  acknowledged  the 
gentleman  had  redeemed  his  promise.  The  negroes  in 
the  mean  time  had  mounted  the  fence,  and  shouted 
and  laughed,  as  only  negroes  can  laugh,  throughout 
the  fray.  My  uncle  was  laid  up  two  weeks,  with  his 
face  and  eyes  so  swollen  as  to  make  him  partially  blind 
for  one  week  or  more.  He  never  struck  a  man  after- 
wards. I  suppose  Francisco  was  the  most  athletic 
man  Virginia  ever  produced.  He  was  doorkeeper  to 
the  House  of  Delegates  for  many  years,  and  I  have 
often  seen  him  at  his  post." 

T.  S.  D.  TO   WILLIAM   H.  DABNEY. 

"July  31,  1883. 

"  I  consider  the  conduct  of  your  brother  in  opening 
his  doors  to  Mr.  Cover,  who  was  sent  to  Fayal  to  sup- 
plant him,  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  acts  of  mag- 
nanimity I  ever  heard  of,  and  Mr.  Cover's  acceptance 
of  hospitality  under  such  circumstances  not  less  re- 
markable. His  early  death  and  abdication,  if  such  a 
view  were  admissible,  may  be  looked  upon  as  acts  of 
courtesy  in  requital  of  your  brother's  kindness.  I  have 
never  mentioned  to  you  that  my  wife  died  just  on  the 
eve  of  hostilities  between  the  sections,  leaving  me  ten 
children  to  care  for, — four  sons  and  six  daughters, — 
all  of  whom  are  now  living  and  doing  fairly  well.  I 
fought  against  secession  as  long  as  there  was  any  sense 


QUIET  DAYS.  305 

or  patriotism  in  it;  but  when  the  war  came,  three  of 
my  boys  sbook  hands  with  me  and  shouldered  their 
rifles.  It  was  my  great  good  fortune  to  greet  them  on 
their  return.  My  youngest,  Benjamin,  was  but  four- 
teen years  old  when  I  took  leave  of  him  ;  my  eldest 
you  have  some  knowledge  of.  He  belonged  to  General 
Lee's  army,  and  was  with  him  at  Appomattox,  di- 
viding the  general's  breakfast  with  bim  just  before  the 
meeting  of  the  two  generals  took  place ;  for  neither 
had  eaten  anything  up  to  that  time.  My  son  had 
nothing  to  eat,  and  the  general  only  a  few  slices  of 
ham  and  bread  in  one  of  his  pockets.  A  part  of  this 
he  ordered  him  to  accept,  for  he  had  to  put  it  in  the 
form  of  an  '  order'  before  it  was  accepted.  And  here 
again  Grant  acted  the  gentleman,  as  he  apologized  to 
General  Lee  for  not  having  his  sword  on,  giving  as 
the  reason  that  he  had  no  time  to  go  for  it,  taking 
care  to  forget  that  General  Lee's  sword  might  have 
supplied  the  deficiency. 

"  I  got  an  item  from  your  last  letter  of  more  than 
ordinary  interest:  nothing  less  than  that  a  son  of  mine 
and  a  nephew  of  yours  were  at  Appomattox.  Their 
swords  were  in  their  scabbards  then,  but  they  had 
been  naked,  and  might  have  been  plunged  in  the 
bosoms  of  each  other.  Such  a  war!  If  the  scoundrels 
who  brought  on  that  war  could  have  been  pushed  to 
the  front  and  kept  there  until  the  last  one  of  them 
had  been  annihilated,  it  would  have  been  well ;  but  that 
was  not  in  the  Southern  programme.  The  Whigs, 
who,  to  a  man  very  nearly,  opposed  secession,  did  the 
fighting,  soft  places  being  provided  for  the  Democrats, 
who  did  the  shouting  ;  but  enough  of  that. 

"  I  may  have  mentioned  to  you,  but  am  not  certain, 
that  my  father  was  married  twice,  and  that  I  am  the 
oldest  of  the  second  batch.  He  left  two  sons  (George 
and  Ben)  by  his  first  wife,  and  one  daughter  (Ann). 
George  went  into  the  navy,  was  present  at  the  battle 
of  Tripoli,  and  bad  the  good  fortune  to  save  the  life 
of  Decatur  in  that  memorable  and  desperate  affair  by 
running  his  bayonet  through  a  gigantic  pirate  (Al- 
gerine),  who  had  Decatur  down,  and  was  about  to 
u  26* 


306      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

transfix  him  to  the  deck  of  the  frigate  ('Philadelphia,'  I 
think,  was  her  name),  when  my  brother,  who  was  near, 
took  him  on  his  bayonet  and  bore  him  over  the  side  of 
the  ship,  the  pirate  taking  the  musket  to  the  bottom 
in  his  death-grip.  George  was  as  strong  a  man  as  the 
pirate,  and  probably  much  stronger,  as  he  killed  a  large 
dog  with  his  fist  at  a  single  blow,  and  may  have  killed 
a  man  in  this  city  in  the  same  way,  but  this  is  not  cer- 
tainly known.  My  brother  had  come  here  with  his 
wheat;  had  sold  it  and  imprudently  drawn  the  money, 
and,  more  imprudently  still,  had  gone  out  on  a  'spree' 
after  dark;  had  pulled  out  his  roll  of  money  in  a  drink- 
ing establishment  to  pay  for  some  drinks;  was  noticed 
by  a  rufiian,  who  followed  him  and  attempted  to  stab 
him ;  but  his  dirk  struck  the  knife  that  was  in  his 
waistcoat-pocket,  splitting  the  buckhorn  incasing  it, 
only  giving  my  brother  a  jar.  He  threw  his  left  hand 
round  behind,  seized  the  fellow  by  the  collar,  and  felled 
him  to  the  pavement.  He  appeared  to  be  dead.  He 
had  but  one  of  two  things  to  do, — to  call  the  watch  or 
to  escape  to  his  schooner  that  was  to  sail  in  the  morn- 
ing. He  called  the  watch,  showed  him  the  broken- 
pointed  dirk  that  lay  on  the  pavement,  his  broken 
knife  in  the  pocket  of  his  waistcoat,  and  the  gash  that 
had  been  made  in  his  waistcoat  by  the  dirk.  The 
watchman  believed  my  brothci^'s  account  of  the  affair 
and  did  not  arrest  him,  but  summoned  him  to  attend 
the  police  court  in  the  morning;  but  he  was  far  down 
the  bay  at  that  hour,  and  heard  nothing  more  of  the 
ruffian.  My  brother  Ben  was  a  powerful  man  too,  but 
not  as  strong  as  George,  though  more  active.  Feuds 
were  in  fashion  at  William  and  Mary  College  when 
Ben  was  a  student  there,  between  the  students  and  the 
young  men  of  the  city.  Ben  was  always  the  champion 
of  the  college,  and  would  accept  a  challenge  to  fight 
any  two  of  the  citizens,  and  sometimes  three  at  a  time, 
and  generally  came  off  victor.  My  maternal  grand- 
father was  the  Rev.  Thomas  Smith,  of  Westmoreland 
County,  Virginia,  of  the  Established  Church  of  Eng- 
land, of  course,  and  General  Washington  was  one  of 
his  parishioners." 


QUIET  DAYS.  307 

T.  S.  D.  TO   WILLIAM   H.  DABNEY. 

"Baltimore,  29th  September,  1S83. 

"  Enclosed  you  will  find  the  long-coveted  letter  from 
my  erratic  friend,  as  you  call  him,  and  I  hope  you  may 
not  find  it  as  difficult  to  unravel  as  Dr.  Slop  found  un- 
tying Obadiah's  knots. 

"  I  think  it  will  amuse  you  for  some  time,  and,  not 
to  be  entirely  idle  myself,  I  will  not  take  advantage  of 
your  kind  permission  to  give  myself  no  further  trouble 
in  the  premises.  I  will  still  continue  to  dig  about  the 
tree  that  you  are  so  faithfully  endeavoring  to  decorate 
with  fruit. 

"I  am  much  engaged  just  now  in  arranging  my 
house  for  a  'new  departure'  in  housekeeping,  and  must 
defer  the  interesting  anecdotes  that  my  daughters 
imagine  they  can  extract  from  me  for  the  edification 
of  yourself  and  daughters." 

The  concluding  words  of  this  letter  are  full  of  pathos 
to  those  who  know  the  gloomy  circumstances  under 
which  the  brave,  gay  lines  were  written. 

One  year's  housekeeping  in  the  new  home  in  the 
city  had  taught  the  family  that  the  expenditures  were 
larger  than  the  income.  The  simplest  way — indeed, 
the  only  feasible  way — of  keeping  an  unbroken  fam- 
ily circle  around  the  father  was  to  rent  out  all  the 
rooms  except  those  actually  needed.  By  this  arrange- 
ment he  would  be  cut  off  from  the  greatest  comfort 
and  pleasure  of  his  old  age,  the  visits  from  his  absent 
children.  Yirginius  had  made  it  his  pious  duty  and 
pleasure  to  come  four  times  a  year  to  see  him,  spend- 
ing several  days  each  time.  He  never  said  good-by 
without  mentioning  the  .period  of  his  next  visit,  and 
this  broke  the  pang  -of  parting  to  the  affectionate 
heart.  They  were  like  two  boys  in  the  enjoyment 
of  these  occasions,  the  man  of  nearly  fifty  sitting  close 
by  the  arm-chair  of  the  aged  father  and  going  over 
college  pranks  and  jokes  and  scrapes  and  war  rem- 
iniscences, to  the  great  amusement  and  delight  of  my 
father.  The  brilliant  ^eyes  glowed  and  flashed  with 
the  fire  of  youth  at  tHe  recital  of  any  brave  deed,  or 


308     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

moistened  at  the  account  of  suffering,  or  almost  closed 
with  merriment  as  he  heard  of  some  youthful  frolic. 
It  was  a  picture  not  to  be  forgotten  by  those  who  saw 
them  thus. 

Edward  had  spent  his  two  months'  summer  vaca- 
tion with  him,  and  much  did  he  enjoy  this  and  the  hope 
of  many  more  such  summer  holidays.  The  society  of 
his  sons  was  very  delightful  to  him  ;  no  one  could  take 
their  place. 

Benjamin  had  promised  to  send  on  his  wife  and  his 
little  band  of  four  boys  the  next  summer.  Thomas 
also  had  made  his  plans  for  coming  on  for  a  long  visit. 

All  these  delightful  visions  were  swept  away  when 
a  large  part  of  the  house  was  given  up  to  strangers. 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Baltimore,  29th  October,  1883. 
"  My  beloved  Child, — To  say  that  your  long-looked- 
for  letter  of  the  27th,  from  Augusta,  was  hailed  with  joy 
this  morning  would  be  putting  it  too  mildly.  It  was 
simply  devoured  by  many  hungry  minds.  Yes,  your 
daughter  Emmeline  is  happy  here,  and  it  would  be 
strange  if  she  was  not,  although  her  aunts  and  grand- 
papa cannot  spread  as  good  a  table  now  as  she  sees  at 
home.  But  we  try  to  make  up  deficiencies  in  the  first 
courses  by  an  elaborate  dessert,  consisting  of  unbounded 
affection  for  her  and  good  humor  in  general.  Scant 
fare,  you  might  say,  but  my  sweet  grandchild  appears 
to  be  as  well  satisfied  as  if  she  had  started  on  canvas- 
back  duck  and  wound  up  on  ice-cream  and  what-nots. 
There  is  a  great  preference  in  favor  of  wealth  over 
squalid  poverty,  but  when  you  come  to  the  intermedi- 
ate grades,  there  is  less  choice  for  real  happiness  than  is 
generally  imagined.  And  yet,  with  this  fact  acknowl- 
edged, how  prone  we  all  are  to  reach  up,  up,  up !  and 
so  would  I  if,  by  tipping-toe,  I  could  reach  the  thing 
that  is  universally  coveted.  But  good-by  to  that ;  and 
yet  I  am  far  from  desolate,  as  I  still  have  the  hearts  of 
ten  loving  children." 


QUIET  DAYS.  309 

T.  S.  D.  TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 
"Baltimore,  18th  November,  1883.     98  John  Street. 

..."  Last  week  Dr.  Latimer  stepped  in  with  Mrs. 
Ann  Foote  Stewart,  daughter  of  Governor  Foote,  and 
wife  of  the  Nevada  Senator,  from  Washington.  She 
came  expressly  to  see  the  Labneys,  accepting  his  es- 
cort. She  had  been  to  Burleigh,  and  my  daughters 
had  been  in  her  father's  house  many  a  time.  I  had 
been  her  father's  friend  in  Confederate  times,  when 
friends  to  him  were  not  as  thick  as  blackberries  in 
August.  She  knew  it,  and  had  remembered  it  to  us. 
Mrs.  Stewart  will  do  to  tie  to,  as  would  her  father,  who 
was  as  true  as  steel  to  a  friend.  He  was  much  misun- 
derstood. She  has  the  colloquial  powers  of  her  father, 
is  never  at  a  loss,  and  never  talks  nonsense.  .  .  .  We 
are  getting  along  with  our  lodgers  unexceptionably.  We 
have  to  see  them  occasionally,  but  never  obtrusively." 

T.  S.  D.  TO   WILLIAM   H.  DABNEY. 

..."  I  was  in  the  civil  war,  too,  but  unfortunately 
have  no  wounds  to  show  or  brag  on,  although  a  man  was 
shot  uncomfortably  near  my  position.  My  eldest  son, 
Yirginius  Dabney,  when  acting  as  aide  to  General  Gor- 
don, of  Georgia,  caught  a  minie-ball  on  the  handle  of  his 
pistol  (it  being  strapped  to  his  side  in  a  holster)  at  the 
second  battle  of  Manassas,  bending  one  or  two  of  his  ribs, 
that  have  not  yet  straightened  out,  and  are  yet  trouble- 
some. I  had  two  other  sons  in  the  army,  although  I 
despised  the  war,  and  those  who  brought  it  on,  and  do 
yet.  And  here  ends  the  military  career  of  these  Dab- 
neys,  all  of  us  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  record  as  it 
stands,  and  without  the  slightest  wish  to  improve  it. 

"  Note. — I  thought  I  was  through  with  military 
matters,  but  find  myself  mistaken,  as  my  girls  on  hear- 
ing the  foregoing  read,  remind  me  of  another  exploit 
to  our  credit.  We  were  in  Macon,  Ga.,  when  we  found 
the  city  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  raided  upon  by 
General  Stoneman.  He  had  planted  his  batteiy,  un- 
observed, on  an  eminence  within  rifle-range  of  the 
city,  and  opened  upon  us  at  a  lively  rate.     No  organ- 


310     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

ized  force  was  there,  but  a  good  many  large  hospitals, 
and  necessarily  more  or  less  convalescents,  and  others 
approaching  convalescence.  These,  with  the  citizens, 
were  in  the  streets  in  a  few  minutes,  fully  armed,  and 
on  their  way  to  the  battery,  the  location  of  which  was 
revealed  by  the  smoke  and  the  whistling  of  the  shells, 
.that  came  tearing  by  us.  My  youngest  son  (twelve 
years  old)  and  I  ran  to  the  arsenal  for  ammunition, 
and  having  obtained  a  supply,  joined  the  throng  that 
headed  for  the  enemy,  but  as  yet  without  seeing  him. 
My  son  and  I  were  ordered  to  defend  the  bridge  to  the 
last  extremity,  or  till  further  orders.  We  stopped, 
and  the  others  crossed  over  the  bridge,  as  the  enemy 
was  on  the  opposite  side;  shells  and  bullets  as  lively 
as  ever,  the  bullets  a  good  deal  more  so,  as  our  ar- 
rival gave  him  additional  targets  to  practise  at.  Our 
men  turned  their  attention  to  the  infantry  supports, 
and  soon  detached  them  from  the  guns.  A  running 
fight  of  ten  to  twelve  miles  ensued.  Stoneman  got 
confused  and  lost,  and  surrendered  to  a  force  not  ex- 
ceeding one-third  his  own,  and  without  regular  organi- 
zation. But  officers  were  among  them,  and  their  orders 
were  promptly  obeyed.  General  Johnston  and  Gover- 
nor Cobb  (Johnston  had  been  '  relieved'  by  Jefferson 
Davis  but  a  few  days  previously),  with  Stoneman  be- 
tween them,  passed  within  twenty  yards  of  me,  to  the 
prison,  I  suppose,  for  I  never  saw  him  afterwards.  The 
artillery  soon  followed.  Neither  my  son  nor  myself 
fired  a  gun  on  this  Waterloo  of  a  day  ! 

"1  have  something  for  you  in  civil  life  more  sad  than 
the  war.  My  then  eldest  son,  Charles,  after  passing 
through  William  and  Mary  College  and  the  literary 
course  of  the  University  of  Virginia,  and  graduating  at 
Harvard  in  1853,  contracted  yellow  fever  and  died  within 
two  months  after  leaving  Cambridge.  Will  you  do  me 
the  kindness  to  look  into  the  records  of  that  institu- 
tion and  judge  for  yourself  of  the  measure  of  my  loss  ?" 

His  son  Thomas,  and  Augustine's  youngest  son, 
John,  knowing  that  he  was  denying  himself  many 
things  in  the  straitened  circumstances^  of  his  family, 


QUIET  DAYS.  311 

made  remittances  to  him  at  stated  intervals,  with  the 
expressed  desire  that  these  sums  should  be  used  exclu- 
sively for  his  own  small  indulgences.  But  the  greatest 
pleasure  that  this  gave  to  him  was  to  return  to  the  old 
ways  of  many  years  back,  and  bring  home  presents  to 
his  children  and  to  others  to  whom  he  thought  little 
gifts  would  be  acceptable. 

"You  used  to  like  to  find  nice  things  in  my  pockets," 
he  said,  "and  I  treat  you  like  little  children  now." 

T.  S.   D.  TO   HIS   EIGHT-TEAR-OLD  GRANDDAUGHTER,  SOPHY 
GREENE. 

"  Baltimore,  15th  December,  1883. 

"My  dear  Little  Pet, — .  .  .  I  am  very  glad  that  the 
poor  bracelet  that  I  sent  you  enables  you  to  save  your 
nickels  for  some  other  purpose  than  the  purchase  of 
one  of  them.  It  was  a  poor  thing,  but  your  grandpapa 
could  do  no  better.  I  hope  your  mamma  may  bring 
you  here  some  day,  that  I  may  hug  and  kiss  you  to 
make  amends  for  the  poor  bracelet." 

T.    S.    D.    TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"  Baltimore,  27th  December,  18S3. 

.  .  .  "  Yeatman  is  from  Gloucester,  and  his  wife  from 
Princess  Anne  County,  Virginia.  We  gravitated  to 
each  other  immediately,  for  I  knew  Yeatman's  father 
and  mother  before  he  knew  them.  They  are  delightful 
people,  both  of  them.  He  expects  me  to  dine  with  him 
every  Sunday.  For  decency's  sake  I  sometimes  fail  to 
go,  but  I  generally  do,  and  get  as  fine  a  dinner  as  this 
market  affords.  .  .  . 

"  Mr.  James  E.  Eandall  is  the  editor  of  the  Augusta 
Constitutionalist  newspaper,  and  the  author  of  '  Mary- 
land, my  Maryland,'  a  song  that  the  boys  used  to  sing 
during  the  war.  I  fell  in  with  him  in  the  rooms  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Yeatman  at  Barnum's  Hotel."  .  .  . 

T.  S.  D.  TO    HIS    GRANDCHILDREN,  SOPHY   GREENE   AND 
THOMAS   DABNEY   GREENE. 

"Baltimore,  16th  January,  1884. 

"My  Little  Darlings, — Your  sweet  letters,  enclosed 
in  one  from  your  dear  mother,  came  to  hand  two  to 


312      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

three  days  ago,  and  were  read  by  your  aunts  and  my- 
self with  much  pleasure.  You  must  continue  to  write 
to  me  on  all  such  occasions,  and  never  allow  your 
mother  or  father  to  write  to  grandpa  without  putting 
in  letters  yourselves.  In  this  way  writing  will  become 
very  easy  to  you,  and  I  will  be  kept  up  with  your  prog- 
ress in  education,  in  which  I  take  very  great  interest. 
As  I  know  nothing  of  French,  you  cannot  practise  on 
me  in  that  language,  but  you  will  learn  to  write  good 
English,  which  will  be  a  high  accomplishment." 

T.  S.  D.  TO    HIS    SON-IN-LAW,  B.  H.  GREENE. 

"Baltimore,  5th  February,  1S84. 

..."  In  1832,  I  think  it  was,  the  South  Hampton 
insurrection  occurred  in  Virginia,  and  stirred  the  State 
to  its  centre,  although  only  a  dozen  to  twenty  whites 
were  murdered,  according  to  my  recollection.  But  the 
attempt  was  so  bold  that  the  people  took  a  serious 
view  of  it.  The  Richmond  Enquirer  took  ground  for 
the  gradual  emancipation  of  the  negroes.  The  Braces, 
among  the  largest  slaveholders  in  the  State,  took  the 
stump  on  the  same  side,  and  the  largest  slaveholder  in 
my  county  of  Gloucester  made  a  -speech  (which  I 
heard)  in  favor  of  the  measure.  The  State  was  drift- 
ing rapidly  into  it  when  the  Northern  abolitionists 
undertook  to  advise  and  cheer  us  on  in  the  good  cause. 
Agitation  in  Virginia  ceased.  Those  who  had  openly 
espoused  the  cause  took  back  their  word,  the  Enquirer 
ceased  to  advocate  it,  and  the  old  State  relapsed  into 
her  old  views  and  remained  there  till  her  negroes  were 
taken  from  her  by  violence.  Mr.  Clay's  proposition  to 
the  same  effect  in  Kentucky  shared  the  same  fate,  but 
I  forget  by  what  agency,  but  the  same,  I  suppose. 
We  will  not  submit  to  foreign  dictation  or  advice 
either."* 


*  "And  there  was  a  time  when  many  Virginians  now  living  began  to 
see  this ;  and  had  they  been  let  alone  not  many  years  would  have  passed 
before  we  should  have  freed  ourselves  from  the  weight  that  oppressed 
us.  .  .  . 

"  From  that  day  all  rational  discussion  of  the  question  became  impos- 
sible in  Virginia,  and  a  consummation  for  which  many  of  the  wisest 
heads  were  quietly  laboring  became  odious  even  to  hint  at  under  dicta- 


QUIET  DAYS.  313 

T.  S.  D.  TO  WM.  H.  DABNET. 

"  Baltimore,  14th  April,  1884. 

"  Since  my  last  to  you  I  have  inquired  of  some  ju- 
dicious friends  if  they  had  ever  heard  of  a  case  of 
rudeness  from  a  negro  to  his  mistress  or  her  children 
during  the  war,  and  the  invariable  answer  was  in  the 
negative,  with  the  emphatic  addition,  '  nor  ever  will.' 
Had  such  instances  occurred  but  a  few  times  the  Con- 
federate armies  would  have  been  broken  up  without 
the  aid  of  Grant  or  Sherman,  as  the  men — a  large  pro- 
portion gentlemen,  you  will  understand — would  have 
broken  ranks,  without  regard  to  the  shouts  of  their 
officers,  who,  by  the  bye,  would  have  generally  joined 
in  the  stampede,  intent  only  on  protecting  their  own 
families.  The  more  the  problem  is  studied  the  greater 
is  the  marvel.  I  have  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
the  universal  quiescence  of  the  negroes  was  due  to 
their  enlightenment,  and  not  to  their  ignorance.  You 
will  remember  that  the  San  Domingo  negroes  were 
nearly  all  savages  but  recently  imported,  and  very  few 
to  the  manner  born.  These,  when  turned  loose,  were 
like  howling  wolves,  intent  only  on  blood.  It  was  the 
common  practice  among  Southern  ladies  to  teach  their 
servants  to  read,  and  as  many  of  the  out  negroes  as 
chose  to  attend.  That  amount  of  knowledge  enabled 
them  to  separate  the  clothes  when  they  oanKJ  in  from 
the  laundry,  and  deposit  each  piece  in  its  proper 
drawer.  That  might  have  been  motive  enough ;  but 
many  were  educated  far  above  that.  A  negro  man, 
living  on  a  very  fine  plantation  but  a  few  miles  below 
Yicksburg,  rented  the  plantation,  as  it  stood,  from  his 


tion  from  outsiders ;  and  on  the  day  when  the  first  abolition  society  waa 
formed  the  fates  registered  a  decree  that  slavery  should  go  down,  not  in 
peace,  but  by  war ;  not  quietly  and  gradually  extinguished,  with  the 
consent  of  all  concerned,  but  with  convulsive  violence, — drowned  in  the 
blood  of  a  million  men  and  the  tears  of  more  than  a  million  women." — 
Bon  Miff,  p.  183. 

Virginius  Dabney,  the  author  of  the  above  lines,  on  reading  his 
father's  letter,  said  it  was  a  curious  coincidence  that  they  should  have 
expressed  exactly  the  same  views  when  they  had  never  exchanged  a 
word  on  the  subject.  My  father  passed  through  the  events  he  recorded; 
my  brother  knew  them  as  a  matter  of  history. 
O  27 


314     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

former  master,  at  the  close  of  the  war,  and  was  soon 
known  as  the  best  planter  in  the  county,  and  perhaps 
in  the  State.  His  cotton,  at  the  Cincinnati  Exposition, 
a  few  years  ago,  took  all  of  the  prizes !  And  large 
ones  they  were,  too!  These  are  curious  things  to 
think  about;  and  the  good  behavior  of  the  negroes 
was  not  due,  as  you  suggest,  to  their  ignorance.  .  .  . 

"  The  Spanish  salaam  to  which  you  call  my  attention, 
although  new  to  me,  is  very  much  admired.  I  hereby 
adopt,  and  request  that  you  '  put  me  at  the  feet  of  your 
daughters.'  " 

T.  S.  D.   TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Baltimore,  26th  April,  1884. 

"  I  suppose  that  I  will  have  both  Tom  and  Ida  with 
me  in  tbe  course  of  a  week  or  ten  days ;  and  I  am 
glad  to  believe  so,  as  I  have  hungered  after  Ida  a  long 
time,  and  Tom  will  always  be  acceptable,  of  course. 
James  Dabney's  wife  and  one  of  his  daughters  left  the 
city  a  week  ago  to  return  home,  after  spending  two 
weeks  in  Baltimore.  It  was  a  grievous  mortification 
to  us  that  we  could  not  offer  them  a  room  during  their 
sojourn  here.  The  girls  found  it  necessary  to  rent  out 
every  inch  of  room  that  we  did  not  need  for  ourselves. 
I  know  it  was  unavoidable,  but  this  new  role  sits  very 
awkwardly  on  me  yet,  and  always  will,  I  suppose. 
Notwithstanding  we  could  not  entertain  them,  for 
want  of  room,  they  insisted,  having  room,  on  enter- 
taining us,  and  we  have  agreed  to  visit  and  spend  a 
week  with  them  in  '  strawberry  times,' — some  time  in 
June.  We  are  making  desirable  acquaintances  every 
now  and  then,  having  made  two  within  the  past 
month, — Mr.  Hairston  and  his  wife,  of  North  Caro- 
lina; the  other,  Colonel  Mark  Alexander,  of  this  city. 
They  are  all  three  fine  whist-players,  Mrs.  Hairston 
being  equal  to  her  husband,  and  equally  fond  of  it. 
Before  the  war  Mr.  Hairston  and  his  family  were  the 
largest  slave-owners  in  this  country,  and  perhaps  in 
the  world,  as  they  owned  five  thousand  negroes.  Just 
think  of  that!  Five  millions  of  dollars  in  negroes! 
These  three  now  belong  to  my  whist  club,  and  meet 


QUIET  DAYS.  315 

here  twice  a  week  certainly,  and  a3  often  on  off  days 
as  convenient." 

T.  S.  D.  TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"  Baltimore,  29th  April,  1884. 

..."  Sue  says  the  mosquitoes  at  Key  West  are  the 
most  vicious  and  audacious  she  ever  saw  anywhere. 
Be  sure,  therefore,  to  have  mosquito-bars  to  take  along, 
so  as  to  be  prepared  for  them  the  first  night  and  the 
first  day,  for  that  matter. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  mademoiselle  is  determined  to 
stick  to  you,  as  it  sounds  well  both  ways.  You  took 
me  by  surprise  when  you  stated  that  you  are  two 
years  older  than  I  was  when  I  emigrated  to  Missis- 
sippi. Time  glides  by  on  greased  wheels,  it  seems.  I 
have  never  looked  upon  you  otherwise  than  as  one 
'  lill  gal,'  as  Madame  Delphine  sa}-s  of  her  daughter, 
adding  that  she  is  one  '  hangel.'  I  think  so  of  you,  my 
child." 

The  marriage  of  his  son  Thomas,  and  a  visit  from 
this  son  and  his  wife,  a  few  weeks  afterwards,  added 
much  to  our  father's  happiness  this  spring. 

T.  S.  D.  TO    EMMELINE    GREENE. 

"Baltimore,  11th  July,  1884.  98  John  Street. 
"My  dear  Granddaughter, — Had  your  excellent  and 
sweet  letter  of  the  8th  been  in  my  possession  when  I  was 
about  writing  to  your  dear  mother,  I  would  not  have 
written  to  her  as  I  did.  I  wish  you  to  understand,  my 
dear,  that  when  I  read  a  letter  from  one  of  my  children 
or  grandchildren,  it  is  not  with  a  view  to  discover  the 
excellencies  of  the  composition,  but  the  faults,  and  I 
have  been  in  the  habit  of  pointing  out  whatever  faults 
I  may  find,  and  in  that  way  to  promote  their  education 
in  the  art  of  letter-writing.  As  this  can  hardly  be  at- 
tained to  a  high  degree  of  excellence  in  any  other  way, 
I  still  adhere  to  the  rule  adopted  when  my  children 
were  young,  and  apply  it  now  to  my  grandchildren. 
The  thing  is  not  pleasant  to  either  of  us,  but  must 


316      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

be  endured  if  any  good  is  to  come  of  it,  and  your 
mother  will  tell  you,  I  hope,  that  what  I  write  is  in- 
tended for  your  good,  and  not  because  I  like  to  find 
fault,  and  especially  with  my  dear  grandchildren.  I 
don't  know  why  there  is  such  a  difference  between  this 
last  letter  of  yours  and  its  predecessor ;  but  there  is  a 
difference,  and  with  this  I  let  the  subject  drop,  with 
the  remark  that  you  must  not  let  anything  that  I  wrote 
to  your  mother  check  your  disposition  to  write  to  your 
loving  grandfather,  but,  on  the  contrary,  you  must 
'  fire  away,'  and  put  down  whatever  comes  uppermost, 
for  this  is  the  natural  way,  is  pleasanter  to  me,  the 
most  improving  to  you." 

<# 

T.  S.  D.  TO   WILLIAM   H.  DABNEY. 

"  Baltimore,  17th  July,  1884. 
"  I  was  very  fond  of  politics  from  my  youth,  and 
took  great  interest  in  elections,  until  secession  and  war 
left  my  opinion  at  a  discount;  but  since  then  I  have 
never  offered  to  vote.  I  will  take  a  '  new  departure' 
next  November,  and  cast  my  vote  with  the  party  that 
may  come  in  with  clean  hands,  as  it  has  had  no  oppor- 
tunity to  befoul  them  for  many  years." 

T.  S.  D.  TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"  Baltimore,  19th  July,  1884. 

"My  darling  Child, — Did  I  mortify  my  sweet 
granddaughter  by  my  strictures  on  her  letter?  I 
think  that  hardly  possible,  and  yet  I  have  to  guess  at 
the  meaning  of  your  long  silence,  and  I  have  guessed 
the  first  thing  that  occurs  to  me.  I  have  not  guessed 
it,  I  know,  as  none  of  your  dear  family  could  be  morti- 
fied at  anything  I  could  write.  Let  one  of  them  write, 
then,  and  if  they  prefer  to  think  in  French,  and  then 
turn  their  thoughts  into  English,  let  them  do  so,  as  I 
would  prefer  a  translation  to  nothing.  Emmeline's 
last  was  entirely  free  from  that  blemish,  and  was  a' 
beautiful  letter  throughout. 

"  I  spent  fifteen  to  twenty  days  with  James  Dabney's 
family  and  the  friends  of  my  youth  and  early  manhood 


QUIET  DAYS.  317 

in  Gloucester.  Much  remains  as  I  left  it  forty-nine 
years  ago ;  and,  notabry,  the  same  open-handed  hospi- 
tality that  then  prevailed,  prevails  still,  as  though  it 
was  inherent  in  the  soil.  The  present  owner  of  Todds- 
bury  (the  family  nest  of  the  Tabbs,  comprising  for- 
merly three  thousand  acres,  perhaps)  is  a  gentleman 
from  Long  Island,  and  he  finds  one  hundred  and 
eighty  acres  as  much  as  he  needs.  These  he  cultivates 
up  to  their  full  capacity,  and  better  than  ever  before. 
The  garden  is  innocent  of  a  single  weed  or  sprig  of 
grass,  and  is  made  to  yield  all  that  one  acre  can  yield 
of  the  choicest  vegetables  and  fruits.  The  strawberry 
season  was  over  when  I  got  there,  but  I  saw  the  im- 
mense vines,  and  was  told  that  some  of  the  berries 
measured  nine  inches  in  circumference.  The  rasp- 
berries were  in  full  blast,  and  twice  as  large  as  any  I 
ever  saw.  They  had  a  full  peck  for  dinner  when  I 
dined  with  them,  and  Mrs.  Mott  sent  Emory  about  a 
peck  for  her  dinner  one  day." 

T.  S.  D.  TO    HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"  Baltimore,  27th  July,  1884. 
"  My  beloved  Child, — Forgive  me,  my  darling,  for 
intimating  that  you  might  be  angry  with  me.  That  is 
just  as  impossible  as  that  I  can  be  angry  with  you.  I 
was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  your  long  silence,  and 
made  the  suggestion  because  it  was  convenient  and 
close  at  hand.  You  had  equal  cause  to  complain  of 
me,  although  I  was  not  aware  of  it." 

T.  S.  D.  TO   WILLIAM   H.    DABNEY. 

"Baltimore,  15th  August,  1884. 

"I  have  taken  very  little  interest  in  politics  since  the 
war,  as  a  military  government  immediately  succeeded 
it,  with  all  the  offices  in  the  hands  of  negroes  and 
carpet-baggers, — the  profitable  ones  in  possession  of 
the  latter,  such  as  the  sheriffalties,  judgeships,  clerk- 
ships, etc.,  and  were  not  responsible  to  any  power  (you 
can  well  imagine  how  rapidly  they  feathered  their 
nests  under  such  circumstances),  while  the  Legislature, 

27* 


318     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

magistracy,  seats  in  Congress,  were  freely  bestowed 
on  negroes.  The  thing  had  to  run  its  course,  and  I 
gave  myself  no  concern  about  it,  and  I  have  only  voted 
once  since  the  war.  But  I  had  proposed  to  vote  next 
November,  as  I  thought  I  saw  an  opportunit}^  to  give 
an  effective  vote  in  the  right  direction;  but  if  civil- 
service  reform  means,  as  you  think  it  does,  the  eviction 
of  a  consul  whose  family  has  served  without  reproach 
through  three  generations  to  make  room  for  a  brawling 
newspaper  editor,  I  am  not  in  favor  of  civil-service  re- 
form, and  I  am  now  standing  with  my  hands  in  my 
pockets.  The  reputation  of  Cleveland  at  the  South  as 
mayor  and  governor  is  without  a  blemish  as  a  fearless 
man  of  honor;  that  of  Blaine  a  tricky  politician,  who 
went  into  politics  a  pauper,  and,  without  any  other 
profession  but  politics,  has  within  a  short  time  become 
a  millionaire.  ...  I  remember  when  young  men  of 
talents,  with  a  practice  as  lawyers  worth  five  thousand 
dollars,  could  not  afford  to  take  a  seat  in  Congress  at 
eight  dollars  per  diem.  This  was  in  Yirginia.  John 
Randolph  could  go  and  give  his  per  diem  to  his  land- 
lady at  the  end  of  the  session,  but  Mr.  Clay  went  in 
debt  every  year,  and  was  relieved  once,  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  by  a  check  covering  his  indebtedness  anony- 
mously. You  know  that  Mr.  Webster  had  to  be  prized 
out  frequently  by  his  friends.  Mr.  Monroe  died  a 
pauper,  after  serving  eight  years  as  President,  serving 
as  minister  to  France,  and  filling  other  high  offices. 
But  it  is  useless  to  follow  this  theme  further.  Public 
men  can  now  do  what  they  did  not  do  then,  and  are 
not  condemned.  I  cannot  vote  for  Blaine  ;  if  I  vote  at 
all  it  must  be  for  Cleveland,  under  the  hope  that  his 
civil-service  reform  will  not  be  equivalent  to  Marcy's 
'  To  the  victors  belong  the  spoils  of  victory,'  the  most 
infamous  sentiment  that  was  ever  uttered  in  the  Senate 
of  the  United  States.  I  think  your  idea  of  a  party 
'that  is  to  bind  us  North,  South,  East,  and  West,'  if 
you  will  forgive  the  word,  is  rather  Utopian ;  and  I 
think  it  should  be  so,  as  no  one  party  can  remain 
honest  but  for  a  short  time.  It  has  been  always  so. 
Whenever  a  party  has  become  strong  enough  to  do 


QUIET  DAYS.  319 

wrong  they  have  not  been  slow  to  perpetrate  out- 
rages. It  is  only  necessaiy  in  this  connection  to  point 
to  Jackson's  reign,  for  it  was  nothing  less.  But  enough 
of  politics. 

"  I  very  much  regret  that  I  failed  to  see  Mrs.  C.  H. 
Dabney  when  she  was  in  the  South.  My  daughters  and 
I  would  have  received  her  with  open  arms,  and  have 
greeted  her  as  one  having  a  supreme  right  to  claim  kin 
with  us.  Her  correspondent  (being  one  of  my  daugh- 
ters) is  my  eldest,  Sarah,  wife  of  Lieutenant  J.  R.  Eg- 
gleston,  who  commanded  one  of  the  hot-shot  guns  on 
the  'Merrimac'  when  she  burned  the  'Congress'  frigate, 
as  I  have  already  informed  you.  They  live  in  Carroll- 
ton,  Mississippi.  My  next  oldest  is  Susan  D.  Smedes, 
widow  of  Lyell  Smedes,  of  Raleigh,  North  Cai'olina. 
My  third  is  Sophy  D.  Thurmond,  widow  of  William 
Thurmond,  Kentucky.  My  fourth  is  Emeline  D. 
Greene,  wife  of  Benj.  H.  Greene,  civil  engineer,  Mc- 
Comb  City,  Mississippi.  My  two  unmarried  and  young- 
est daughters  are  Ida  and  Lelia,  both  living  with  me, 
as  do  also  their  two  widowed  sisters.  This  information 
is  furnished  on  your  suggestion  that  you  wished  to 
know  their  names,  and  I  give  them  in  full  and  with 
great  pleasure." 

T.   S.   D.   TO    WILLIAM   H.  DABNEY. 

"Baltimore,  17th  September,  1884. 

"  The  Benjamin  Dabney  of  Gloucester,  Virginia, 
whose  death  occurred  in  1806,  was  my  father,  and,  as 
we  are  bringing  ourselves  nearer  and  nearer  together 
as  our  correspondence  progresses,  I  will  at  once  throw 
off  all  reserve  and  say  that  he  was  a  lawyer  of  emi- 
nence, having  few  peers  and  no  superiors  in  Virginia. 
Governor  Littleton  Walter  Tazewell,  of  Norfok,  Vir- 
ginia, himself  almost  without  a  peer,  and  possessing 
intimate  relations  with  my  father,  gave  me  that  esti- 
mate of  his  character.  My  father  died  prematurely, 
killed  by  the  ignorance  of  his  physicians,  as  was  Gen- 
eral Washington  seven  years  before.  There  were  two 
other  Benjamin  Dabneys,  one  of  them  a  half-brother 
of  mine,  and  the  other  a  first  cousin,  he  being  a  son  of 


320     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

Major  G-eorge  Dabney,  of  Dabney's  Ferry,  King  Wil- 
liam County,  the  birthplace  of  my  father,  and  the  same 
place,  as  I  presume,  at  which  Cornelius  and  John 
Dabney  originally  settled.  The  '  Thomas  S.  Dabney' 
whose  marriage  you  call  my  attention  to  was  myself, 
as  you  conjecture.  I  married  Miss  Mary  A.  Tyler, 
daughter  of  Samuel  Tyler,  of  Williamsburg,  Virginia, 
chancellor  of  the  State  (there  was  but  one  chancellor 
in  Virginia  at  that  time,  and  the  position  necessarily 
implied  eminence  as  a  lawyer  and  a  reputation  for  in- 
tegrity as  a  man,  and  both  of  these  conditions  were 
squarely  met  in  him).  The  marriage  took  place  in 
1820,  as  represented  in  the  Boston  paper.  Two  sons 
were  the  issue  of  this  marriage,  but  both  died  young, 
the  mother  in  childbed  with  the  second.  My  second 
wife  was  Miss  Sophia  Hill,  daughter  of  Charles  Hill, 
Esq.,  of  King  and  Queen  County,  a  lawyer  of  high  re- 
spectability, but  more  remarkable  as  a  member  of  a 
family  remarkable  then  and  yet  for  the  inflexibility  of 
their  virtue.  This  union  gave  me  sixteen  children,  of 
whom  six  daughters  and  four  sons  remain  alive  and 
grown.     You  already  have  an  account  of  them.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  "And  yet  the  negroes  are  looked  upon  with 
more  kindness  (when  in  their  places)  here  than  at  the 
North.  My  daughters  still  call  the  woman  who  nursed 
them  in  their  infancy  and  waited  upon  them  in  their 
girlhood  mammy;  and  these  mammies  are  always  privi- 
leged characters  in  the  presence  of  their  old  masters, 
on  whom  they  will  call  for  anything  without  fear  of  a 
refusal." 

T.  S.  D.  TO  WM.  H.  DABNEY. 

"  Baltimore,  October  14,  1884. 

.  .  .  "About  half  a  century  ago  I  paid  twenty  cents 
postage  on  a  single  sheet  of  paper ;  now  two  cents  will 
pay  for  a  letter,  and  the  postman  (letter-carrier)  calls 
at  my  door  four  times  a  day!  Is  the  human  race  ren- 
dered happier  by  these  improvements  ?  Verily  I  doubt 
it.  In  my  father's  time,  or  in  that  of  my  grandfather, 
one  ship  a  year  would  ascend  the  Pamunkey  to  the  to- 
bacco-warehouse, with  the  latest  fashions  from  London, 
having  on  board  magnificent  dresses,  gloves,  shoes,  etc., 


QUIET  DAYS.  321 

etc.,  for  the  'quality'  for  fifty  to  one  hundred  miles 
around,  and  the  whole  province  was  made  happy." 

T.  S.  D.  TO    MARSHALL    MILLER,  ESQ. 

"Baltimore,  13th.  December,  1S84. 

"Has  it  not  occurred  to  you  that  you  will  soon  have 
an  opportunity  to  do  something  that  you  could  not 
have  done  during  the  last  twenty  years,  no  matter 
how  anxious  you  might  have  been  to  do  it, — I  mean, 
of  course,  to  see  a  Democrat  inaugurated  as  President  ? 
It  will  be  an  event,  and  a  big  one.  It  makes  me  shiver 
when  I  look  back  to  see  on  what  a  narrow  margin  it 
was  won.  A  leading  New  York  Republican  said,  when 
the  thing  was  decided,  that  that  old  fool,  '  Rum,  Ro- 
manism, and  Rebellion  Parson,'  elected  Cleveland. 
Just  think  of  it!  It  required  a  fool  to  do  what  sa- 
gacious men  could  not  have  accomplished !  Perhaps 
that  thing  has  been  done  before  .without  being  ob- 
served. Unless  you  mean  to  come  to  Congress  pretty 
soon,  I  hope  you  will  elect  to  attend  the  inauguration, 
or  it  will  be  likely  that  we  will  never  meet  again  in 
this  world,  as  I  will  be  eighty-seven  on  the  4th  of  nest 
month.  But  I  can  play  whist  and  backgammon  yet; 
although  I  am  aware  of  having  fallen  off  at  whist, 
but  not  at  backgammon.  ...  I  can  get  no  spectacles 
that  will  enable  me  to  read  by  artificial  light,  although 
I  write  by  it  without  glasses,  as  I  am  now  doing  at 
8.30  p.m. 

"  As  Sue  and  Ida  are  both  at  the  South  at  present,  I 
have  only  Sophy  and  Lelia  to  sit  at  the  table  and  cheer 
me  at  other  times.  We  have  made  as  many  desirable 
acquaintances  as  we  can  exchange  visits  with ;  but  every- 
body here,  except  myself,  has  something  to  do  during 
the  day.  I  have  no  resource  except  newspapers,  maga- 
zines, and  books,  so  that  if  I  am  not  up  with  current 
events,  and  some  old  ones,  I  must  make  bad  selections." 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS  GRANDDAUGHTER,  SOPHY  GREENE. 

"Baltimore,  21st  December,  13S4. 

"  Grandpa's  Darling, — And  so  you  want  me  to 
write  a  long  letter  to  you !     I  will  have  to  write  to 


322     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

Dabney  in  a  few  days,  and  I  suppose  he  will  want  a 
long  letter,  too ;  and  how  am  I  to  write  two  long  let- 
ters to  the  same  house  within  two  to  three  days  of 
each  other,  and  make  them  interesting?  But  I  only 
have  this  one  on  hand  at  present,  and  it  will  be  best  to 
dispose  of  this  before  we  begin  to  talk  about  the  other. 
You  would  like  to  have  me  down  there,  to  show  me 
how  nicely  you  can  fix  my  collar  and  pull  on  my  socks, 
and  do  all  the  other  things  that  I  would  like  to  have 
done  to  dress  me  up  comfortably.  I  know  you  would 
do  it,  and  do  some  parts  of  it  well ;  but  you  could  not 
make  me  walk  after  I  was  dressed  without  assistance 
on  rough  places,  or  slippery  ones,  or  other  bad  places 
in  the  road  or  woods,  for  if  you  attempted  such  a  thing 
we  would  both  come  to  grief  together.  I  am  too  help- 
less, my  dear  little  pet,  to  wander  far  from  home  now, 
and  must  hope  that  your  mamma  may  find  it  conveni- 
ent to  bring  you  to  Baltimore  some  time  or  other 
before  I  have  finally  to  leave  you  all. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  your  dear  mamma  allows  you 
to  write  to  me  without  dictation,  as  I  enjoy  your  style, 
knowing  it  to  be  yours. 

"  Your  grandpa  will  be  eighty-seven  years  old  if  he 
lives  until  the  4th  day  of  January  next, — a  greater 
age  than  any  of  his  name  ever  attained,  according  to 
his  knowledge." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

REST. 

T.  S.  D.  TO   HIS    SON   THOMAS. 

"  Baltimore,  8th  January,  1885.     98  John  Street. 

"  My  beloved  Son, — I  find  myself  overwhelmed  by 
emotions  that  I  am  powerless  to  describe.  To-day's 
mail  brought  me  letters  from  you  and  your  wife,  and 
from  Sue.  They  are  of  the  same  tenor,  pretty  much, 
and  equally  hard  to  take  hold  of.     I  tried  just  now  to 


REST.  323 

make  a  start,  but  had  to  give  it  up  after  spoiling  two 
sheets  of  paper.  I  have  known  men  to  live  too  long, 
and  have  hoped  to  be  spared  that  humiliation ;  for  a 
man  may  be  said  to  have  lived  too  long  when  he  ceases 
to  be  useful  and  simply  becomes  a  charge  on  his  friends, 
or  when  he  has  outlived  his  reputation,  instances  of 
which  I  have  known,  this  last  being  the  most  deplora- 
ble of  all.  But  this  last  I  never  feared  could  befall  me. 
Money  might  slip  away,  health  might  decay,  but  I 
never  could  forget  that  I  was  born  a  gentleman,  and 
incapable,  consequently,  of  a  mean  action.  But  it  is 
one  thing  to  maintain  one's  self-respect,  and  another  to 
take  up  a  too  extravagant  notion  of  one's  true  standing 
with  his  fellow-men.  It  is  not  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world  to  see  the  difference  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, but  next  to  impossible  when  the  vanity  is  ex- 
cited or  the  judgment  muddled  by  a  deluge  of  assur- 
ances from  so  many  partial  hearts  (not  heads)  that  he 
is  a  marvellous  proper  man !  Such  is  my  present  con- 
dition, and  I  have  been  trying  my  best  to  work  my 
way  out  of  it  for  about  five  days,  and  without  success 
so  far.  I  have  thrown  two  parts  of  letters  in  the  fire 
through  disgust,  and  I  can  hardly  keep  this  one  out  of 
it.  But  I  conclude  to  let  it  go,  as  I  see  no  chance  of 
doing  better.  You  must  take  the  will  for  the  deed, 
then,  my  dear  son,  as  I  am  absolutely  powerless  to 
thank  you  as  my  heart  dictates  I  should  for  this  great 
testimony  of  a  son's  affection  and  confidence.  I  will 
write  to  your  dear  wife  after  a  while.  In  the  mean 
time  she  may  be  assured  that  I  will  look  forward  to  her 
second  appearance  in  this  city  with  more  hope  than 
expectation.  I  must  say.  Eighteen  months,  when  piled 
on  eighty-seven  years,  amount  to  something,  but  for 
your  sake  and  hers  I  will  expect  to  see  it.  Kiss  your 
sweet  wife  eighty-seven  times  for  me !     Good-by." 

T.    S.   D.   TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   EMMY. 

"Baltimore,  10th  January,  1S85. 

"  My  darling  Child, — Your  budget  reached  me  on 
time.  'Budget'  it  was,  as  there  are  five  letters  in  the 
one  cover,  and  all  charming  letters,  too ;  Ann's  equally 


324     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

prized  with  the  rest,  as  hers,  too,  was  purely  an  offer- 
ing of  love.  Ann,  good  girl,  regrets  that  she  was  not 
here  on  my  birthday  to  wash  my  feet !  I  call  that 
pure  affection,  as  nothing  but  affection  could  have 
prompted  the  thought.  Tell  her  that  I  will  write  to 
her  soon, — it  may  be  in  a  week  or  two,  as  I  have  a 
hatful  of  such  letters  to  attend  to.  I  think  that  I  re- 
ceived more  birthday  letters  on  this  last  occasion  than 
on  all  the  others  combined.  I  am  truly  grateful  for 
such  evidences  of  confidence  and  affection  from  my 
dear  ones.  Those  from  you  and  your  darling  pets  are 
particularly  grateful  to  me,  as  they  always  are.  Dear 
little  Sophy  is  sorry  that  she  has  no  handsome  pi'esent 
for  grandpapa,  but  believes  he  will  be  satisfied  with  an 
evidence  of  affection.     To  be  sure  he  is. 

"  I  want  only  thirteen  more  years  to  complete  my 
century.  If  I  live  thirteen  years  more  (having  been 
born  on  the  4th  of  January,  1798)  I  will  have  seen  one 
whole  century  and  parts  of  two  others.  Will  I  see  it? 
Hardly.  But  many  people  have  exceeded  that.  How 
many  were  glad,  and  how  many  sorry,  we  do  not 
know,  but  the  regrets  predominated  largely,  I  am  sure. 

"  You  were  not  well  when  you  wrote,  my  darling 
child,  but  made  no  complaint.  I  wish  1  could  get  a 
cheerful  letter  from  you,  and  will  do  it  when  your 
noble  husband  straightens  out  his  business  affairs;  but 
I  cannot  hope  for  it  sooner.  But  this  must  come 
sooner  or  later,  and  that  thought  cheers  me  up.  Let 
it  cheer  you  up  also.  ...  I  have  no  measure  for  my 
admiration  of  Tom's  wife,  and  I  may  say  the  same  of 
Tom.  Have  I  not  reason  to  be  proud  of  my  children? 
Examine  them  as  I  may,  I  can  find  no  trace  of  mean- 
ness in  any  one.  Not  a  shade  of  it.  And  I  have  ten. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  my  brother's  nine." 

T.   S.   D.   TO   HIS   DAUGHTER  IDA. 

"Baltimore,  10th  January,  1885. 

"  My  darling  Child, — I  have  your  birthday  letter. 
Also  one  from  Tom,  another  from  his  wife,  and  still  an- 
other from  Sue.  They  overpower  me.  I  have  not  yet 
been  able  to  make  a  suitable  reply  to  any  of  them.     I 


REST.  325 

have  made  three  attempts  on  Tom's,  and  yet  have  to 
write  to  him.  I  say  I  am  overpowered.  It  is  by  the 
stream  of  love  and  confidence  which  rushes  through 
these  letters  that  unnerves  me.  I  can  hardly  see  that 
I  can  deserve  so  much  affection  for  doing  so  little,  but 
my  dear  children  make  allowances  for  my  shortcom- 
ings. I  have  omitted  to  mention  Emmy,  the  dear 
child  who  never  forgets  her  old  father  any  more  than 
you  do.  She  not  only  wrote,  but  her  three  children 
also  stuffed  in  their  beautiful  offerings  to  their  grandpa. 
I  cannot  express  myself  properly  now,  nor  will  I  ever 
be  able  to  do  it,  as  I  do  not  believe  the  man  is  alive 
who  has  such  children  as  I  have.  ]\lay  God  bless  you, 
and  all  of  you,  my  dear,  dear  children ! 

"  The  enclosed  letters  will  answer  man}r  of  your  in- 
quiries, which  I  send  as  the  best  and  most  convenient 
method.  But  I  forgot  to  mention  a  letter  from  Heath, 
from  Berlin,  which  came  in  on  the  very  fourth  1  Vir- 
ginia's wife,  too,  did  not  forget  me.  Neither  did  Ben 
forget  me.  He  says  the  cold  has  been  extreme  in 
Bonham,  Texas.  Every  stream  frozen  solid,  so  that, 
although  food  for  ducks  abounds  in  their  water-courses, 
the  ducks  fly  over  and  seek  water  elsewhere.  Our 
markets  abound  in  ducks  and  other  game,  but  they 
(the  ducks)  are  too  high  for  our  purses,  and  we  let 
them  fly  on!" 

T.   S.   D.   TO    HIS    DAUGHTER   SUSAN. 

"  Baltimore,  11th  January,  1885. 

"  My  beloved  Child, — I  have  received  more  birth- 
day letters  on  this  last  occasion  than  on  all  former  re- 
currences of  my  natal  day  combined.  It  appears  as 
if  every  one  with  whom  I  have  any  correspondence 
has  been  wide  awake  to  the  fact  that  I  was  born  on  the 
4th  of  January. 

"  I  find  myself  overwhelmed  by  the  good  wishes  and 
loving  wishes  of  so  many  of  my  dear  children  and 
others,  and  find  myself  impotent  to  make  suitable  re- 
plies, and  especially  to  Tom  and  his  wife.  You  must 
all,  my  dear,  take  it  for  granted  that  your  love  for  me 
cannot   exceed  mine  for  you,  and   there  the   matter 

28 


326      MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

must  rest.  ...  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  any  better 
people  than  the  James  Dabneys,  or  as  good,  for  that 
matter.  Cousin  Era  never  forgets  when  giving-time 
comes,  and  she  accordingly  sent  us,  at  Christmas,  fully 
ten  pounds  of  sausage-meat,  and  a  turkey  that  ap- 
peared on  our  table  six  times,  in  spite  of  its  being  un- 
commonly excellent  and  tender.  She  availed  herself 
of  Evelyn's  coming  to  send  up  five  to  six  or  more  gal- 
lons of  selected  oysters,  pickled.  I  have  been  working 
on  them  faithfully  from  the  day  of  their  arrival,  and 
have  given  my  whist  club  (eleven  to  twelve  persons 
participated)  as  many  as  they  could  dispose  of,  and  a 
good  many  still  remain,  enough,  perhaps,  to  give  my 
whisters  another  show  at  them." 

T.    S.   D.    TO   MRS.  THOMAS   S.  DABNET. 

"  I  look  forward  to  your  return  to  Baltimore  with 
more  pleasure  than  I  can  express,  although  it  may  ap- 
pear absurd  for  a  man  to  look  forward  to  anything  to 
come  off  eighteen  months  hence  after  he  has  attained 
his  eighty-seven  years.  But  it  costs  nothing  to  hope 
it,  and  I  therefore  indulge  in  the  cheap  extravagance." 

T.    S.    D.    TO    MARTHA   C.  DABNEY. 

"Baltimore,  13th  January,  1885. 

"My  beloved  ISTiece, — Your  delightful  and  cheery 
letter  of  the  5th  came  in  this  morning,  it  having 
missed  a  coincidence  but  one  day,  as  the.4th  was  my 
natal  day, — a  thing  that  you  had  luckily  forgotten,  but 
had  been  remembered  by  a  sufficient  number  to  keep 
me  writing  '  acknowledgments'  for  a  week  yet  to  come. 
I  am  very  grateful  for  these  evidences  of  affection 
from  my  children  and  grandchildren,  and  nieces  and 
nephews,  and  outside  friends;  but,  to  tell  the  truth, 
to  be  congratulated  on  being  eighty-seven  years  old  is 
rather  'jubus.'  However,  as  you  say  I  am  improving 
on  it,  I  have  no  right  to  complain,  whether  I  believe 
you  or  not. 

.  .  .  "I  hope  you  may  elect  to  see  the  Exposition,  as 
in  that  event  you  will  have  placed  the  Bockies  behind 


\ 


REST.  327 

you,  and  will  have  little  bother  about  coming  to  Balti- 
more.  Do  come,  my  dear,  as  it  will  be  the  last  chance 
of  seeing  your  old  but  '  improving'  uncle." 

On  the  margin  of  this  letter  I  find  these  words : 
"As  this  is  the  last  letter  I  got  from  my  dearest 
uncle,  I  could  not  bear  to  send  it,  and  so  I  copied  it 
for  you.  Your  loving  cousin, 

"  Martha." 

t.  s.  d.  to  Ann  craven  (colored  nurse  in  his  daughter 
Emmy's  family). 

"Baltimore,  14th  January,  1885,     98  John  Street. 

"Dear  Ann, — Your  birthday-letter  has  been  on  hand 
several  days,  and  I  now  desire  to  return  my  sincere 
thanks  for  it,  and  the  more  because  it  was  unexpected. 
Why  it  was  unexpected  I  can't  say,  as  there  was  noth- 
ing unnatural  in  your  wishing  to  remind  as  true  a 
friend  as  I  am  to  you  that  you  thought  of  me  on  my 
birthday.  Inclosed  with  yours  were  the  three  letters, 
from  my  grandchildren,  ail  of  whom  you  nursed  from 
infancy  with  a  care  only  short  of  maternal;  and  their 
affection  for  you  strictly  corresponds  to  that  relation. 

"When  I  reached  that  part  of  your  letter  in  which 
you  expressed  regret  at  not  being  in  Baltimore  on  my 
birthday  to  wash  my  feet,  I  could  not  suppress  a  smile, 
but  it  was  a  smile  of  real  pleasure. 

"  May  God  bless  you,  Ann,  with  many  years  of  good 
health — an  equivalent  of  happiness,  as  happiness,  after 
good  health,  depends  exclusively  on  integrity — is  the 
prayer  of  Your  true  friend, 

"Thos.  S.  Dabney." 


The  handwriting  was  as  clear  as  ever,  but  it  was  a 
difficult  one  to  read,  and  this  letter  was  read  to  Ann. 
"  If  I  could  get  a  letter  like  this  once  a  week,  I  would 
be  a  happier  and  better  woman,"  she  said  after  hear- 
ing it. 

George  Page's  wife  wished  to  send  a  live,  white  pig 
to  Baltimore  to  her  master,  and  was  much  disappointed 


328     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

on  hearing  that  it  was  not  thought  feasible.  One  day 
George  Page  said  to  Ida, — 

"  Charlotte  say  she  gwyne  to  kill  an'  roas'  a  tuckey 
an'  sen'  him  to  ole  marster.  I  tell  her  she  fool ;  Miss 
Ida  ain't  gwyne  to  carry  a  tuckey  to  Baltimo'." 

"  Yes,  George,  I  will.  It  will  please  him  to  see  how 
she  loves  him." 

"Den  she  ain't  sich  a  fool  as  I  thought.  I  gwyne 
tell  her  to  kill  an'  roas'  her  tuckey." 

A  number  of  the  servants  sent  little  baskets  of  eggs 
to  him. 

T.  S.  D.   TO    HIS   SON   BENJAMIN. 

"Baltimore,  19th  January,  1885. 

"I  am  truly  sorry  that  I  made  the  mistake  of  ad- 
dressing my  letter  that  was  intended  for  Charley  to 
Ben.  Give  my  love  to  the  dear  little  fellow,  and  tell 
him  it  was  a  mistake;  that  he  must  not  mind,  but  must 
write  to  me  again,  and  I  will  be  sure  to  send  the  next 
to  him.  As  I  can  never  again  get  to  Bonham,  you 
must  contrive,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  to  visit  me  occa- 
sionally during  the  remainder  of  my  days.  I  made  it 
my  pious  duty  to  visit  my  mother  every  other  year 
during  the  latter  part  of  her  life,  taking  with  me  one 
of  her  grandchildren  on  each  occasion.  I  don't  men- 
tion this  for  }Tour  emulation,  as  you  cannot  afford  it  as 
well  as  I  could  at  that  time,  but  you  can  do  the  same 
to  some  extent." 

T.    S.   D.    TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   IDA. 

"  Baltimore,  28th  January,  1885. 

.  .  .  "The  girls,  Sophy  and  Lelia  and  Evelyn  Dabncy, 
and  Maria  Tabb,  daughter  of  John  Henry  Tabb,  of 
Gloucester,  are  off  for  the  theatre  to-night,  leaving  me 
'verge  and  scope'  enough  to  do  as  I  please,  and,  as  I 
cannot  think  of  anything  better,  I  will  dedicate  the 
time  to  my  darling  daughter,  who  has  the  responsi- 
bility of  all  the  affairs  of  the  family  on  her  shoulders, 
and  bravely  does  she  stand  under  them.  May  God 
bless  you,  my  dear  child  ! 

..."  Say  how-d'ye  to  George,  Susan,  Abby,  Louisa, 


REST.  329 

and  any  other  of  my  old  servants  who  appear  to  take 
an  interest  in  their  old  master." 

T.  S.  D.  TO   HIS    SON   THOMAS. 

"  Baltimore,  12th  February,  1385. 

...  "I  have  just  received  a  card  from  Yirginius, 
advising  that  he  will  dine  with  us  on  Sunday  next, 
and  celebrate  his  semi-centennial  with  me  and  his  two 
sisters,  who  are  here.  I  wish  I  had  some  of  that  fine 
wine  that  the  army  followers  of  Grant  imbibed  in  the 
front  portico  of  Burleigh  during  the  war,  but,  alas  and 
alack!  I  have  it  not." 

T.   S.   D.   TO   HIS   DAUGHTER   SUSAN. 

"Baltimore,  15th  February,  1S35. 

"  Mi  beloved  Child, — Yirginius  dropped  in  upon 
us  last  night,  to  give  us  the  benefit  of  his  august  pres- 
ence at  dinner  to-day,  this  being,  as  you  know,  the  an- 
niversary of  the  day  on  which  his  first  yell  saluted  the 
ears  of  his  mother  and  mine  fifty  years  ago.  Many 
things  have  happened  to  him  and  to  us  since  then. 
Brothers  and  sisters  have  joined  him,  and  some  have 
departed.  War,  prosperit}',  adversity,  have  in  their 
turn  crossed  the  stage  of  life,  leaving  each  its  mark, 
good,  bad,  or  indifferent.  The  bad  and  indifferent  per- 
haps predominate,  but  still  we  have  cause  to  thank 
God  for  much  that  remains  of  the  good,  among  which 
blessings  we  rank  high  on  the  list  the  preservation  of 
your  life  when  we  thought  it  was  lost;  and  I  think  it 
quite  natural  that  my  children  should  thank  God  for 
the  preservation  of  my  life  for  such  mysterious  purpose 
as  we  know  not,  but  will  hope  not  for  evil." 

T.  S.  D.  TO  WILLIAM   H.  DABNEY. 

"Baltimore,  17th  February,  1885. 

"Your  late  letter  (not  so  late  either)  has  remained 
unnoticed  unreasonably  long,  as  you  may  think,  but  - 
the  sad  event  recorded  in  it  was  too  sad  to  be  either 
commented  on  or  passed  over  at  the  moment.  To 
have  a  much  cherished  member  of  one's  family  re- 
moved forever  by  death  is  a  calamity  to  wThich  humanity 

28* 


330     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

has  fallen  heir,  and  must  be  met  by  all;  but  few,  if  any, 
are  capable  of  holding  themselves  prepared  to  see  them 
snatched  away  suddenly  when  in  the  full  vigor  of 
health,  and  yet  that  is  one  of  the  conditions  under 
which  we  ourselves  hold  to  the  precarious  tenure  of 
life  most  mysteriously,  as  a  mere  'bodkin'  would  be 
sufficient  to  make  us  'shuffle  off  this  mortal  coil'  in  a 
moment.  It  is  a  blessed  thing  to  the  departed,  but 
none  the  less  grievous  to  those  who  remain." 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS   DAUGHTER-IN-LAW,  MRS.  THOMAS   DABNEY. 

"  Baltimore,  22d  February,  1885. 

"  Mr  beloved  Daughter, — As  Tom  tells  me  in  his 
last  that  a  letter  of  mine  did  you  so  much  good,  I  will 
address  this  also  to  you,  as  not  fearing  Tom's  jealous}7, 
and  as  helping  him  in  a  professional  way  in  the  treat- 
ment of  your  ailments.  The  nostrums  of  the  veriest 
quacks  have  been  known  to  work  miracles  in  effecting 
cures  when  the  remedies  known  to  the  regular  faculty 
have  utterly  failed.  But  the  regular  faculty  never 
affected  infallibility,  although  pretenders  in  medicine, 
as  well  as  in  divinity,  do.  They  both  succeed  in  de- 
luding the  credulous,  although  people  die  with  infalli- 
ble nostrums  in  their  mouth,  and  souls  go  to  the  wrong 
place  bespattered  with  holy  water! 

"  And  now,  at  what  have  I  arrived  ?  I  believe  I 
started  with  a  proposition  of  Tom's  that  my  letters 
did  you  good.  I  am  glad,  indeed,  that  your  ailments, 
lumbago  or  what-not,  can  be  assuaged  in  any  degree  by 
such  simple  remedies  as  my  nonsense.  If  it  is  so,  I 
hope  this  dose,  this  dash  at  the  Pope  and  impostors  in 
general,  may  prove  a  specific,  thorough  and  complete, 
and  bring  you  out  bright  and  joyous, — as  good  as  new !" 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER  IDA. 

"Baltimore,  24th  February,  1885. 

"  My  beloved  Child, — Being  square  up  with  my 
correspondence,  I  am  at  liberty,  for  the  nonce,  to  choose 
my  auditor,  and,  as  I  love  your  prattle  hugely,  I  elect 
you  for  my  first  victim  on  a  new  start,  under  the  hope 


REST.  331 

of  provokin g  some  of  the  said  prattle.  .  .  .  Mr. fell 

on  the  ice  the  other  day  and  broke  an  arm.  I  boasted 
immunity  from  falling,  thinking  I  was  too  cautious  for 
such  a  mishap  to  befall  me,  and  I  lost  my  heels  within 
a  few  hours  after  making  the  boast ;  but  I  saved  my 
arms,  and  was  not  hurt,  as  I  took  care  to  squat  right 
down  when  I  found  I  had  to  go.  A  good  many  casual- 
ties are  reported,  as  the  bad  and  slippery  weather  has 
been  long  continued.     It  is  ten  o'clock,  so  good-by." 

T.  S.  D.  TO  HIS   DAUGHTER-IN-LAW,  MRS.  THOMAS   DABNEF. 
"Baltimore,  27th  February,  1885.     98  John  Street. 

"My  beloved  Daughter, — My  last  bulletin  from 
Magazine  Street  was  from  Sue,  but  that  has  been  too 
long  ago,  and  although  it  was  cheering  enough  for  the 
time,  and  as  no  news  is  supposed  in  my  family  to  be 
good  news,  I  still  cannot  suppress  the  fear  that  the  rule 
may  not  hold  good  in  this  instance.  I  therefore  re- 
quest that  Sue  or  Tom  or  your  cousin  or  yourself  will 
break  the  uncomfortable  silence  and  let  me  know  how 
matters  stand.  I  request,  in  addition,  that  no  mail  be 
allowed  to  leave  New  Orleans,  after  receipt  of  this, 
without  a  message  to  me  from  one  of  you.  You  see, 
my  dear,  that  I  am  getting  old  (getting  ?),  and  don't 
feel  that  I  can  spare  either  of  you,  as  time  might  not 
be  left  me  to  repair  damages. 

"  Baltimore  is  undergoing  the  most  rigorous  winter 
of  many  years.  A  month  ago  grave  apprehensions 
were  entertained  of  an  ice-famine  next  summer,  but 
now  every  ice-house  is  filled,  I  suppose,  with  ice  from, 
twelve  to  eighteen  inches  thick,  and  the  rivers  stacked 
with  ice  too  formidable  for  the  tugs.  The  Chesapeake 
is  dangerous  for  navigation  on  account  of  floating  ice, 
too  heavy  to  be  encountered  at  night,  and  hence  travel 
by  the  bay  has  been  seriously  interrupted.  Boats  are 
tied  up  in  all  directions.  This  has  only  been  the  case 
for  a  day  or  two,  however,  but  there  is  no  telling  how 
long  it  may  last,  as  snow  resumed  falling  at  6  p.m.  this 
evening,  after  a  suspension  of  thirty-six  hours,  the 
snow  falling  piling  on  one  of  nine  inches,  that  fell 
three  days  ago.     So  you  see  we  are  having  a  lively 


332     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

time  for  catching  rabbits,  sparrows,  snowbirds,  and  the 
like,  to  our  hearts'  content !  When  a  boy,  I  liked  that 
hugely,  but  I  must  confess  now  that  the  frost  of  years, 
as  it  fell  on  my  pate,  has  had  the  effect  of  moderating 
my  delight  at  witnessing  the  frost  of  heaven. 

"  I  hope  you  have  seen  the  orations  of  Winthrop  and 
Daniels,  as  delivered  on  the  occasion  of  the  dedication 
of  the  Washington  Monument  at  Washington.  They 
are  grand  specimens  of  oratory,  as  the  monument  is 
of  architecture,  and  when  combined  should  and  will,  I 
hope,  go  far  towards  cementing  the  hearts  of  our  great 
nation  into  one  loving,  irresistible  whole,  the  prating  of 
States-rights  people  (so  called),  who  have  not  yet  found 
out  that  the  war  is  over,  to  the  contrary  notwithstand- 
ing. Calhoun  knew  no  country  but  Carolina  (he  only 
knew  one),  and  I  have  lately  (and  only  lately)  found 
that  persons  actually  exist  who  only  know  Virginia,  for 
I  heard  a  lady  say,  after  reading  those  noble  orations 
in  honor  of  Washington,  and  in  which  his  counsels  are 
commended  to  his  country,  that  had  he  not  been  a 
Virginian  she  would  have  cared  nothing  for  him! 

"  Why  do  not  the  moon  and  stars  fall  upon  and 
crush  us,  I  would  like  to  know? 

"  Having  taken  breath,  I  only  have  to  say,  with  my 
love  to  your  husband,  good-by. 

"  Thomas  S.  Dabney." 

After  writing  this  letter  my  father  posted  it  himself. 
It  was  a  cold  afternoon,  and  everything  covered  with 
snow.  He  had  paid  several  calls  during  the  last  few 
days,  and  was  as  bright  as  usual.  On  this  evening  his 
friends  came  for  the  semi-weekly  game  of  whist,  and 
he  played  as  well  as  ever,  and  enjoyed  everything,  and 
went  up-stairs  to  bed  in  good  spirits.  As  he  seldom 
came  down  to  breakfast  before  eleven  o'clock,  and  some- 
times during  this  winter  as  late  as  twelve  or  one,  no 
one  went  to  call  him  until  twelve  on  this  day.  Only 
Sophy  and  Lelia  were  at  home  this  winter.  Sophy 
had  gone  off  to  a  sewing-school,  in  which  she  was  a 
teacher,  at  ten  o'clock. 

As  he  did  not  come  down  at  twelve,  Lelia,  who  had 


REST.  333 

twice  during  the  morning  called  to  know  if  he  was 
awake,  ran  up  to  his  room.  He  appeared  to  be  calmly 
sleeping,  with  the  dear  head  resting  on  the  clasped 
hands,  just  as  he  always  composed  himself  for  the  last 
refreshing  sleep  in  the  morning,  that  he  enjoyed  so 
much.  When  she  found  that  she  could  not  rouse  him, 
she  thought  that  he  had  swooned.  There  was  nothing 
that  looked  like  death  in  that  calm,  sleeping  figure. 
The  servants  helped  her  to  rub  him  till  a  physician 
could  be  called.  He  said  that  the  spirit  had  passed 
away  two  hours  before.  Death  had  been  instantane- 
ous and  painless,  and  had  come  in  his  sleep.  His 
prayer  had  been  answered  ;  he  had  not  lived  to  be 
helpless,  and  he  had  passed  away  suddenly. 

Often  in  life,  when  another  would  have  put  off  a 
call,  he  would  say,  "  I  will  do  it  at  once."  It  seemed 
now  as  if  he  had  answered  to  those  last  summons  to 
come,  "  I  will  come  at  once." 

Lelia's  letters  to  the  absent  son  and  daughters  give 
the  last  details  of  the  putting  away  of  the  honored  and 
precious  father. 

His  children  took  him  to  Gloucester,  to  old  Ware 
Church  that  his  mother  and  he  had  loved.  Here  they 
laid  him  under  a  walnut-tree,  within  the  shadow  of  the 
venerable  church.  On  a  slab  of  plain  granite,  placed 
there  by  his  four  sons  and  Frederick  Dabney,  are  cut 
his  name  and  the  date  of  his  birth  and  death.  He  had 
said  to  us  that  the  slabs  over  his  ancestors  in  the  old 
church-yard  on  Jamestown  Island  were  the  most  suit- 
able and  enduring  that  he  knew,  and  he  had  chosen 
them  as  his  pattern  in  the  slabs  over  his  dead,  and  we 
put  the  same  over  him. 

As  one  stands  at  the  head  of  the  green  mound  one 
may  see  beyond  the  fields  and  meadows  the  blue  waters 
that  he  loved  so  well. 

LELIA   TO   THE   SISTERS   AND   THOMAS   IN   NEW   ORLEANS. 
"Baltimore,  4th  March,  1885.     9S  John  Street. 

"My  dear  Sister  Sue  and  the  rest  op  my  dear 
Sisters  and  dear  Tom, — We  have  just  returned  from 
carrying  our  beloved  father  to  Gloucester.     I  cannot 


334     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

help  hoping  his  spirit  saw  the  waters  of  the  Chesa- 
peake. If  he  had  been  alive  he  would  have  loved  to 
stand  where  he  was  on  the  boat.  But  I  must  tell  you 
how  it  was. 

"At  three  o'clock  on  Monday  Mr.  Dame  read  all  that 

part  of  the  service  usually  read  in  the  house.     and 

would  not  allow  a  notice  to  be  put  in  the  papers,  as 

they  said  the  house  was  too  small.  They  sent  notices 
or  told  all  our  special  friends.  There  were  a  great 
many  here,  but  I  do  not  know  who  they  were.    I  asked 

to  give  me  the  list  of  pall-bearers.    They  were  Mr. 

Thomas  B.  Mackall,  Mr.  Hopkins,  Mr.  Newton  Gray, 
Mr.  Thomas  Levering,  Dr.  E.  E.  Walker,  Dr.  Pow- 
hatan Clarke,  Dr.  Marriott,  and  Mr.  William  Reynolds. 

"  Mr.  Teatman,  sister  Sophy,  and  I  were  all  who 
went  to  the  boat  with  him.  Ned  had  to  leave  during 
the  service  and  hurry  to  a  different  boat  by  which  he 
could  make  better  time.  Jenkins  and  his  men  did 
everything  on  the  boat.  Evelyn  could  not  go  with  us, 
but  she  and  Willie  met  us  at  Canton  that  night  at 
eight.  We  went  to  the  boat  immediately  after  the 
service.  We  had  the  service  at  three  o'clock  on  brother 
Yirginius's  account,  so  that  he  could  go  back  to  New 
York. 

"  Mr.  Yeatman  did  everything  for  us,  and  I  do  not 
know  how  we  would  have  done  without  him.  The 
boat  did  not  leave  Baltimore  until  after  eleven  o'clock, 
so  he  knew  we  would  miss  the  other  boat,  but  he  tele- 
graphed, and  the  captain  promised  to  wait.  He  did 
wait  a  long  time,  and  then  had  to  start,  and  came  to 
meet  us,  I  suppose,  as  we  met  in  the  bay.  This  was  a 
dangerous  thing  to  do.  Mr.  Yeatman  spoke  to  every- 
body, and  everything  was  done  so  respectfully  and 
reverently,  you  knew  that  we  had  to  be  transferred  to 
the  other  boat. 

"We  took  this  line  because  it  landed  us  within  three 
miles  of  the  church.  When  we  got  to  the  landing 
Cousin  James  and  Todd  were  there  waiting  for  us 
with  everything  ready.  Ned  and  Lee  had  attended  to 
the  arrangements  in  the  churchyard.  Jimmy  had  let 
everybody  know.    The  court  was  in  session.    We  went 


REST.  335 

directly  from  the  boat  to  the  church,  where  we  did  not 
have  to  wait  long. 

"A  great  many  people  came  and  shook  hands  with 
us  and  sympathized  with  us,  and  talked  so  beautifully 
about  him.  Our  cousins  were  all  they  could  be.  The 
pall-bearers  were  Judge  Warner  Jones,  Thomas  Talia- 
ferro, General  William  Taliaferro,  Colonel  Bobbins,  Mr. 
Hairston  Sewell,  and  Major  Thompson.  More  asked 
to  be  allowed  to  be  pall-bearers  than  we  wanted.  The 
interment  took  place  on  March  3  at  4.30  p.m. 

"  Every  one  seemed  so  much  gratified  at  his  love  for 
the  place  and  our  taking  him  there  on  that  account.  I 
think  Cousin  James's  family  went  as  papa's  family.  I 
know  he  did,  and  Evelyn  and  Jimmy  Duncan.  I  did 
not  see  the  others.  Evelyn  would  hold  on  to  me. 
Cpusin  James  walked  with  sister  Sophy.  Lee's  voice 
was  so  sweet  in  'Abide  with  Me.' 

"  They  begged  us  to  stay,  but  we  heard  there  was  a 
chance  of  reaching  the  boat.  Todd  said  he  would  try, 
so  we  left  the  church-yard  as  soon  as  the  services  were 
over,  and  Todd  took  us  rapidly  with  his  blooded  horses, 
and  we  were  just  in  time.  Cousin  Em  was  not  at 
church.  She  had  no  idea  we  could  go  home  that  day, 
and  looked  for  us  at  the  Exchange. 

"When  Cousin  Parke  was  here  he  talked  to  her  as  if 
she  were  her  mother  in  age,  and,  as  she  knew  so  many 
of  the  old  stories,  with  a  woman's  tact  she  made  him 
thoroughly  enjoy  the  reminiscences  he  would  run  over. 
Among  them  he  talked  a  great  deal  of  his  mother  and 
her  love  for  Bishop  Moore  and  Ware  Church. 

"  He  also  told  us  what  I  had  never  heard  before, 
about  his  beginning  a  Sunday-school  in  the  Highlands 
in  Gloucester.  So  like  him.  He  bought  a  stove  and 
all  the  books,  and  made  all  the  preparations  that  in- 
volved money  at  his  own  expense  and  that  of  a  young 
man  who  went  in  with  him.  But  unfortunately  they 
could  not  get  hold  of  the  children.  They  did  all  they 
could  to  get  them,  but  failed." 


336     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

LELIA   TO    HER   SISTER   SUSAN. 

"  Towson,  Md.,  March  13,  1885. 

"  I  want  to  write  to  you  about  our  dear  father.  I 
try  so  bard  to  bear  it  right.    I  want  to  tell  you  bright, 

pleasant  things.  We  have  thought,  and  Mrs. agrees 

with  us,  that  papa  slept  splendidly  this  past  winter.  He 
not  only  slept  in  the  morning,  but  in  the  night. 

"  That  last  night  he  did  not  make  one  sound.   E , 

who  was  sitting  up-stairs,  in  the  front  room,  answered 
my  question,  '  Have  you  heard  papa  stirring?'  '  I  have 
not  heard  one  sound  from  his  room.'  I  ran  up-stairs 
on  that,  not  much  frightened,  for  three  times  within 
ten  days  had  I  run  up  to  find  him  sound  asleep,  and 
so  surprised  to  hear  me  tell  him  how  late  it  was.  Once 
I  told  him  how  much  frightened  I  was,  and  asked  him 
if  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  stay  in  bed  until  one 
o'clock,  saying,  '  Papa,  you  frighten  me  so  much.'  He 
was  greatly  amused.  It  pleased  him  very  much  seeing 
me  uneasy  about  him.  But  I  noticed  when  I  waked 
him  even  at  half-past  eleven  he  was  very  drowsy,  and 
I  determined  not  to  wake  him  so  early.  I  thought  it 
only  my  own  nervousness  about  gas,  and  would  worry 
myself  to  death  about  that,  knowing  he  could  not 
smell  it. 

"  There  was  some  one  around  his  room  all  the  time, 
and  if  he  had  made  any  sound  it  would  have  been 
heard.  But  I  do  not  believe  that  he  moved  hand  or 
foot  after  he  went  to  sleep.  There  was  every  evidence 
of  this, — the  cover  tightly  tucked  around  his  neck,  and 
smooth  all  over  the  bed. 

"  This  is  not  the  letter  I  meant  to  write.  I  tore  it, 
thinking  that  I  would  throw  it  away.  But  I  will  send 
it,  and  try  again  to  write  what  I  wish  to  say.  ...  Is 
not  that  a  sweet  thought  in  Cousin  Fred,  and  so  far 
above  his  means?" 

LELIA   TO   HER   SISTER   SUSAN. 

"  Baltimore,  March  26,  1885.     98  John  Street. 

.  .  .  "You  could  not  have  felt  a  farther-off  feeling 
more  strongly  than  we  did.     It  was  not  as  if  we  had 


REST.  337 

looked  for  it.  But  in  one  sense  I  had  looked  for  it. 
That  was  the  third  time  in  that  week  that  he  had 
alarmed  me.  I  had  run  up  to  his  room  to  find  him 
asleep,  and  he  was  so  much  amused  by  my  waking 
him.     Once,  not   long   before   Evelyn  left  us  for  the 

C s,  I  went  to  the  C s  with  Evelyn.     On  my 

return,  I  said,  '  Has  not  papa  come  down  yet  ?'  Sister 
Sophy  said,  '  jSTo  ;  and  it  makes  me  uneasy.'  I  ran  up 
to  his  room,  and  he  did  not  wake  until  I  called  once  or 
twice.  It  was  one  o'clock.  I  said  to  him,  'Do  you 
need  to  stay  in  bed  this  long,  for  it  frightens  me  nearly 
to  death.'  He  was  so  much  amused,  and  said,  'So  you 
keep  an  eye  on  me,  do  you  ?     I  like  that.' 

"  I  try  to  think  of  all  the  pleasant  things.  I  bring 
back  a  great  many  to  my  mind.  I  try  not  to  reproach 
myself,  nor  do  I  do  it  now  as  I  did.  A  letter  of  Ned's 
gave  me  so  much  comfort  on  that  subject." 

LELIA   TO   HER   SISTER   IDA. 

"Baltimore,  98  John  Street,  March  S,  1SS5. 

..."  He  had  such  a  sunny  disposition ;  he  was  so 
happy  over  so  little,  and  never  stopped  to  repine  over 
what  he  might  have  had.  He  was  as  grand  in  his 
poverty  as  a  king  could  be  in  all  his  glory.  All  these 
friends  of  his  here  who  knew  nothing  of  him  until  a 
year  or  two  ago,  look  on  him  just  as  those  do  who 
knew  him  in  his  younger  and  more  prosperous  days. 
They  love  his  great  heart,  his  truth,  his  nobility.  Huw 
fresh  were  the  wells  of  love  in  his  ever-youthful  heart! 
He  made  friends  here  as  if  he  were  a  boy.  Even  the 
little  boys  on  the  street  knew  and  loved  him,  and  would 
run  to  meet  him,  and  he  would  stir  them  up  with  his 
stick,  or  pretend  to  try  to  disperse  them  in  fun.  ...  I 

did  not  know  that  Mr. appreciated  him,  but  he 

broke  completely  down  when  he  spoke  of  him.  Mrs. 
Mackall  was  so  sweet,  going  close  to  him,  leaning  down 
to  his  face,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  find  life  where  there 
was  none.  She  would  say,  'I  love  that  good  man.  I 
love  that  good  man.'  .  .  .  Mrs.  Teatman  sent  lovely 
roses,  which  we  put  on  his  breast  at  the  very  first.  Mr. 
Levering  sent  a  large  box  of  cut  flowers,  not  just  white 
p       w  29 


S38     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

flowers,  but  all-colored  roses  and  other  sweet-scented 
flowers.  I  laid  them  on  him.  Mrs.  Gray  brought 
lilies,  and  they,  too,  were  not  made  up.  He  liked 
them  so  much  better  that  V7ay.  If  he  was  sick  I  do 
not  think  he  knew  it  himself.  He  did  say  his  legs  were 
stiff,  and  that  was  the  only  reference  that  he  made  to 
.  his  health.  He  was  so  busy  reading  the  papers  and 
writing  letters,  he  lost  not  a  moment.  And  then  he 
went  visiting,  and  enjoyed  his  friends  who  called. 

"  Not  many  days  before  (my  mind  is  such  a  blank  I 
cannot  recall  the  day)  Dr.  Walker  called  and  saw  no 
one  but  papa.  I  asked  him  if  he  thought  him  looking 
well.     He  said  that  he  thought  him  unusually  well." 

MARTHA  DABNEY  TO   SUSAN. 

"  Santa  Rosa,  California,  April  29. 

..."  If  you  could  have  all  the  letters  that  he  wrote 
to  my  dearest  father  you  would  have  quite  a  complete 
history  of  his  life.  Two  or  three  letters  every  week 
would  pass  between  them  on  many  subjects, — politics 
very  often,  on  the  occasion  of  sending  a  quarter  of 
lamb  or  a  fine  piece  of  beef.  These  were  always  occa- 
sions for  long  notes.  Of  late  years  I  have  tried  to 
keep  all  their  letters,  but  mother  has  such  a  passion 
for  sending  them  away  that  I  have  lost  some  very 
valuable  ones.  I  begged  for  the  last  one  of  my  uncle, 
telling  her  it  might  be  the  last  I  should  ever  see  from 
his  hand,  so  I  kept  it.  Tou  will  see  from  reading  it 
what  a  happy  mood  was  on  him.  I  am  sorry  not  to 
send  you  the  original,  because  it  won't  look  so  natural 
to  you  to  have  it  in  another  handwriting ;  but  I  value 
it  too  much  to  trust  it  to  the  mail.  I  wish  you  would 
be  so  good  as  to  send  them  all  back  when  you  have  got 
what  you  want  from  them. 

"  A  school-teacher's  lot  has  little  leisure  in  it,  else  I 
would  try  to  write  in  appropriate  terms  a  tribute  to 
one  whom  I  admired  as  much  as  I  loved.  One  who 
possessed  that  most  excellent  of  all  characters,  the 
rare  blending  of  manly  strength  with  womanly  tender- 
ness, a  mind  of  large  grasp  and  delicate  discernment, 


REST.  339 

a  symmetrical  nature,  "where  the  intellectual  and  the 
moral  formed  a  perfect  whole. 

"  To  those  "who  only  knew  him  casually  his  sagacity 
in  practical  affairs  must  have  been  very  striking. 
While  his  neighbors  were  sending  half  their  cotton 
North  to  bujT  corn,  his  granaries  were  overflowing. 
He  had  a  saying,  'Cattle  don't  fatten  on  bought  corn.' 
Don't  you  remember?  It's  strange  what  interest  I 
took  as  a  child  in  everything  he  said,  and  admired  his 
management.  'Plough  deep  in  dry  weather'  is  another 
of  his  sayings  that  I  remember.  I  wondered  that  all  the 
planters  around  didn't  come  to  him  for  instructions. 

"His  mind  was  so  comprehensive  as  to  embrace 
everything.  He  was  as  much  at  home  in  the  purely 
intellectual  as  the  purely  practical. 

"How  I  do  regret  my  sweet  old  uncle!  May  God 
bless  all  his  children  and  grandchildren  !" 

Of  the  letters  that  came  to  his  children  a  few  ex- 
tracts are  here  given : 

Jennie  Eggleston  Zimmerman  wrote:  "I,  too,  mourn 
that  beautiful  life  gone  from  us  as  a  daughter.  When 
I  wTas  famishing  for  home  and  home-love  his  father- 
heart  reached  out  and  took  me  in  as  heartily  and  ten- 
derly as  if  I  had  been  one  of  his  own.  I  can  never 
forget  it.  It  is  one  of  the  sweetest,  most  cherished 
memories  of  my  life,  and  I  feel  poorer  because  he  has 
gone  out  of  this  life.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  most 
prominent  feature  of  his  character  was  his  fatherliness. 
Even  to  his  grown-up  children  he  seemed  to  fill  the 
place  of  both  father  and  mother. 

"  The  manner  of  his  death  was  especially  beautiful. 
A  long,  good  life,  full  of  tenderness  and  good  deeds, 
passing  away  in  healthful  slumber  without  a  pang  of 
agony.  .  .  .  While  he  discharged  all  the  duties  of  life 
with  fidelity,  while  he  was  an  ideal  gentleman,  he  was 
pre-eminently  a  father.     Thank  God  for  his  life !" 

Mrs.  A.  G.  Brown  wrote:  "Many  and  many  a  time 
in  our  lonely  home  has  he  cheered  us  with  his  bright, 
hopeful  conversation.  We -always  felt  better  for  his 
coming;." 


340     MEMORIALS  OF  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

Mrs.  Campbell  Smith  wrote:  "The  grand  old  country 
gentleman,  as  I  knew  him,  a  very  lord  in  his  castle, 
hospitable  and  courteous  to  all.  Distant  and  reticent 
I've  seen  him  to  some  few,  with  good  reasons  of  his  own 
for  it,  but  kindly,  familiar,  and  jovial  with  those  he  loved 
and  claimed  as  friends.  ...  I  bore  him  the  greatest 
love  and  admiration.  I  love  to  think  of  him  and  con- 
template his  beautiful  life.  Such  hope  and  encourage- 
ment to  those  who  would  follow  in  his  footsteps !" 

His  son-in-law,  Benjamin  H.  Greene,  wrote,  after  a 
visit  to  the  home  :  "  Everything  about  the  house  looked 
natural  to  me  except  the  empty  chair  and  corner  which 
the  grand  old  patriarch  occupied  upon  my  former  visits. 
I  longed  to  see  him  and  to  hear  him  talk  in  his  fasci- 
nating manner  every  minute  of  my  stay  in  his  house, 
more  than  I  had  ever  before  experienced.  We  know 
exactly  where  to  find  him,  and  I  pray  that  when  the 
summons  comes  we  may  pass  away  as  sweetly  and 
serenely  as  this  grand  man  did." 

His  son  Edward  wrote:  "  Every  letter  that  I  ever 
received  from  him  was  good,  eminently  good,  for  he 
was  a  hero  in  the  truest  and  best  sense  of  the  word, 
looking  all  issues  squarely  in  the  face  and  scorning  all 
subterfuge." 

John  Dabney  wrote:  "I  wish  that  the  good  man's 
hands  had  been  laid  in  blessing  on  the  heads  of  my  two 
children." 

The  last  of  his  old  friends,  John  Shelton,  now  him- 
self a  man  of  seventy-one  years  of  age,  wrote:  "I  es- 
teemed him  as  a  most  noble  man,  and  one  of  the  very 
finest  specimens  of  the  old  Virginia  gentleman  that  it 
was  ever  my  fortune  to  know.  .  .  .  Leaving  behind 
him  a  name  without  fear  and  above  reproach." 

A  negro  woman  who  had  never  met  him  wrote  thus 
of  him  to  her  daughter  on  his  death  :  "  he  War  a  very 
Welthy  Man  and  he  all  so  died  very  hapy  and  he  did 
live  in  the  South  and  all  so  War  good  to  the  Poor  and 
did  help  Both  White  and  Colard  for  he  war  good  to  all 
and  he  War  high  'onard  By  Both  White  and  Colard." 

We  could  not  let  his  old  servants  hear  the  tidings  of 
the  death  of  Thomas  Dabney  from  the  public  journals. 


REST.  341 

Letters  were  written  to  several  of  tbem.  George  Page 
wrote :  "  He  was  a  good  master  to  us  all.  You  are  all 
my  children,  and  I  love  you  all  alike."  He  took  his 
letter  from  the  family  to  two  negro  churches,  where  it 
was  read  aloud  to  "  our  people."  George  wrote,  and  we 
got  many  affectionate  messages  from  them. 

Mammy  Maria  was  in  !N"ew  Orleans,  having  been 
taken  there  by  her  daughter,  with  whom  she  lived. 
Her  mind  appeared  almost  gone;  softening  of  the  brain 
had  set  in  several  years  before.  But  her  affections 
were  in  no  way  dulled  by  the  disease  that  had  attacked 
the  brain,  and  she  sobbed  and  wept  when  any  of  her 
white  children  went  to  see  her.  We  went  ourselves  to 
tell  mammy  that  her  master  was  gone.  She  asked, 
quickly,  "  Was  George  Page  with  him  ?"  and  then  be- 
came silent,  and  looked  stolid,  as  if  she  had  not  com- 
prehended the  import  of  the  words  that  she  had  heard. 

But  those  words  had  snapped  the  mainspring  of  her 
life.  She  walked  about  the  house  for  a  week,  but  she 
refused  to  touch  food  or  drink.  When  urged  by  her 
daughter  she  said,  "I  got  'nough,"  and  when  water 
was  put  in  her  mouth  she  did  not  swallow  it.  At  times 
frightful  paroxysms  of  grief  came,  but  she  rarely  spoke 
unless  spoken  to.  At  the  end  of  the  week  she  got  on 
her  bed  and  lay  there  with  closed  eyes.  Her  friends 
prayed  and  sang  around  her  bed,  but  she  gave  no  sign 
except  that  big  tears  rolled  through  the  closed  lids. 
From  being  a  stout  woman  she  became  emaciated,  and 
on  the  24th  of  March,  the  twenty-fourth  day  after 
hearing  of  her  master's  death,  she  passed  away  in  great 
agony. 

"  It  'peared  like  her  heart  busted  with  grief  when 
she  heerd  of  marster's  death,"  her  daughter  said. 

"Oh,  Mammy  Harriet,"  one  of  Thomas  Dabney's 
bereaved  children  said  to  her  old  nurse,  "  will  papa  be 
afraid  to  meet  at  God's  judgment  bar  the  face  of  any 
servant  whom  he  ever  owned  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  no,  my  good  marster,  no!"  while  tears  rained 
down  the  venerable  black  face. 

THE   END. 


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